


A Friend in the Dark

by AuroraNova



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-18
Updated: 2019-05-10
Packaged: 2019-11-23 22:26:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 26,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18157826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuroraNova/pseuds/AuroraNova
Summary: Julian Bashir is headed to a court-martial for lying about his genetic status. He's willing to accept the consequences of his actions, but Dax thinks something is wrong. When she and Sisko find out just how bad the situation is, there's only one person who can help.Garak thinks they're all hopelessly naive. Fortunately, he knows what he's doing.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the next installment in my Unrelated DBIP AU Trilogy, and it's the most sinister of the lot. 
> 
> “Walking with a friend in the dark is better than walking alone in the light.” – Helen Keller

Sisko had known this moment was coming. Lack of surprise failed to make him feel better.

Yes, Bashir had lied on his Starfleet and medical school applications, and it wasn’t that Sisko necessarily thought he should be able to avoid any consequences, but he’d already lost his commission, career, and therefore his entire life. That seemed like more than enough punishment.

Starfleet Command thought otherwise.

Bashir’s quarters were dark, and the doctor was sitting on his couch looking out the window, a picture of misery.

“I’m afraid I have orders for your immediate arrest,” said Sisko.

“They decided to throw the book at me, then.”

“It looks that way. You’re going to face court-martial at Starbase 375.” The official charges were lying on his applications, but everyone knew the real crime was being genetically enhanced and wanting to live a normal life. When Bashir didn’t respond, Sisko went on, “If there’s anything I can do to help…”

“There is one thing,” said Bashir, finally making eye contact. “Distance yourself from me.”

That was unexpected. “I was thinking more along the lines of testifying in favor of a lenient sentence.”

“I know, Captain, and I appreciate it more than I can say, but you’re already on thin ice with Command for telling Bajor not to join the Federation.”

Sisko frowned, mainly because it was a good point.

“I always knew this could happen,” said Bashir, looking away again. “I am guilty, and I will accept whatever consequences befall me. However, the last thing I want is to drag anyone else down with me, not least when we all know it’s only a matter of time before DS9 becomes the front line of war with the Dominion. It’s not worth it, sir. Please. Don’t make this worse than it has to be.”

“If that’s what you really want.” Sisko didn’t like it – in fact he hated it - but had to admit Bashir’s reasoning was sound.

“It is. Adigeon Prime was my parents’ choice. Applying to Starfleet Medical was mine. No one else needs to have their name sullied by association.”

It was not lost on Sisko how far this was from the action of a power-crazed tyrant. “Julian Bashir, I believe you’re one of the noblest men I’ve ever known.”

Bashir smiled sadly. “Thank you, Captain. That means a great deal. It’s been an honor to serve with you.”

“I’m sorry it came to this.”

“So am I,” said Bashir, and he followed Sisko out, submitting to arrest with quiet dignity. It was one of the more painful scenes Sisko had witnessed in his career.

He was in his quarters thinking over their conversation, and reevaluating everything he’d ever learned about Augments, when Jadzia came by. She was too flustered to stand still. “Something’s not right, Benjamin.”

“What?”

She paced in front of the door. “Julian can’t be the first genetically enhanced person in Starfleet. I remember hearing about one when I was at the Academy, so I looked her up. Classified. Anyone who might have set a precedent for Julian’s case is classified.”

That did seem ominous. Sisko tried to access the file Jadzia mentioned, but he couldn’t, either. Four different search terms yielded nothing. “No public records, either,” he said. “That’s strange.” He’d have thought this kind of thing would be hard to keep out of the news, especially if a cadet heard.

“How exactly did you hear about this woman?” he asked.

“Overheard, and I was hiding in a closet at the time. That’s not the point. Do you still have a friend in the JAG office?”

Sisko resolved to ask what she was doing in the closet later. “Dr. Bashir specifically requested I distance myself from his case. He’s worried about any defense of him reflecting badly on us and causing collateral damage.” Bashir had been very clear on his wish, and Sisko wanted to respect its selflessness.

“Never mind collateral damage! Something’s wrong here, Benjamin. I don’t know what, but I am not going to stand by and cover myself while my friend gets a punishment which far exceeds his crime.”

As usual, Jadzia was right. “I’ll see what I can find out.”

“So will I. I need a new holosuite costume.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Admittedly, Garak could hack any computer on the station, but Sisko hated to encourage the practice.

“No,” said Jadzia, “but it’s the only one I have.”

* * *

 

When he heard back from Morrison, the look on the man’s faced spoke volumes, and nothing good. “You’re right, Ben. There have been six cases of suspected Augments in Starfleet in the last fifteen years.”

“Suspected?”

“They all died trying to escape when being transported to face trial. The news was classified to avoid stoking fear, or at least, that’s the official story.”

Sisko’s heart skipped a beat. “You don’t think it’s the real story.”

“I think,” Morrison said slowly, “it’s all too neat and tidy. Starfleet never has to reckon with the idea that Augments might not be inherently dangerous, because they all promptly prove themselves to be, despite each of these individuals having spent years being no threat at all.”

This was far worse than Sisko had imagined. “You’re talking about black ops.”

He’d heard the rumors, of course, but never put a great deal of stock in them. The galaxy was full of rumors, and very few of them came even close to the truth. Most were downright laughable. What Morrison suggested would fit with some of the darker whispers in the Federation, ideas Sisko had never given serious consideration.

“I can’t prove anything, Ben. Hell, I can’t even access the accuseds’ psych profiles or detailed service records. But I don’t like Bashir’s life expectancy.”

Morrison was not a man prone to flights of fancy, so Sisko grew very concerned. It was possible all the other suspected Augments snapped when arrested, but the secrecy was bad news, and he wasn’t comfortable risking Bashir’s life on an outside possibility. Nor did he like that a mere five hours remained before the transport carrying Bashir was supposed to depart.

“I’ll keep digging,” said Morrison. “This is unacceptable to me. It’s the antithesis of law and order, but it’s a long term project. Short term is up to you.”

“I appreciate your help.”

“If anyone asks, you contacted me for legal advice, and I told you he should plead guilty and hope for leniency based on his exemplary service record.”

“I understand. Thank you.”

Last Jadzia said, Garak was ‘looking into her concerns.’ Sisko hoped their resident spy-turned-tailor had some leads, because he himself was sorely lacking any promising ones.

* * *

 

Jadzia was furious, though doing her best to hide it and pretend this was just a visit to discuss a new holosuite costume with the man making it for her. She could be angry later. Now was the time to save Julian.

As soon as the doors to Garak’s Clothiers shut, she asked, “Any other customers?”

“Only yourself, Commander,” said Garak.

She dropped all pretense. “It’s worse than we thought.”

“No. It’s worse than you thought.”

“You automatically assumed any Augment discovered in Starfleet is killed in an escape attempt before they can stand trial, possibly staged by unsanctioned operations?”

“Something like that.”

“You’re serious.” It was hard to tell with Garak, but he was smart enough not to joke about Julian’s life right now.

“Quite. The existence of genetically engineered individuals who behave according to the accepted standards of your society would suggest the Federation is allowing itself to be blinded by prejudice.”

“So we have the conversation, discuss the possibility that we’re wrong. We don’t kill people!”

“And yet these conversations have failed to take place,” said Garak. “It seems that either all genetically engineered members of Federation races are, in fact, as dangerous as they are said to be, or someone wants you to think so. But then, why would those in power not publicize the escape attempts which appear to prove them right?”

Jadzia had a theory. “Do you know how rare it is for a prisoner to be killed in an escape attempt?”

“Considering how much you prefer the stun setting on your phasers, I’d imagine it’s quite uncommon.”

“Six out of six is unheard of.”

Garak nodded. “So the incidents, while liable to support the existing prejudice, would be suspicious. Obviously the families have been silenced as well.”

She hardly dared guess how families and friends might have been silenced. “I don’t want to think this could happen,” she said. “I want to think there’s some other explanation. That we’re better than this.”

“We don’t have time for existential agony.”

He had a point. “Have you found anything?”

“Commander, you flatter me. Even if, for the sake of argument, I possessed the ability to access highly classified Starfleet files, such files are not kept in the station’s computer, making it infinitely more complicated to retrieve them. If you want proof of a conspiracy, I’m afraid I won’t be able to help, and these records alone are unlikely to be sufficient evidence unless someone has been careless beyond belief.”

Jadzia wasn’t about to give up. “We can’t just let them kill Julian.”

“I did not say I had resigned myself to such a thing.”

That was more like it. “What’s the plan?”

“It’s better if you don’t know,” said Garak, which was more than a little ominous.

Better for whom, she wondered. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“I would welcome a distraction in the vicinity of docking bay four at precisely 1754 hours.”

“I can do that,” said Jadzia. She’d get Worf to stage a fight with her. He wasn’t exactly thrilled about Julian’s longstanding deception, but murdering people because they were an inconvenient challenge to conventional wisdom was a different magnitude of dishonorable than lying on a Starfleet application. “You do know Julian won’t cooperate if you’re killing people who are just doing their jobs.”

“I am aware, yes. Do you think Chief O’Brien would be willing to temporarily ignore a malfunctioning alarm in secondary ore processing section three?”

“Nobody goes down there. How long do you need?”

“Six minutes.”

“I’ll talk to him. Anything else?”

Garak looked around his shop. “If you could see to it that the proceeds from my inventory go to Ziyal, I would appreciate it.”

The implication hit hard. “You’re not coming back.”

“No,” he said, as though it was the only obvious conclusion and she’d been terribly slow. “I value my life, and I don’t care to risk it by making myself an easy target for the Federation’s so-called unsanctioned operations.”

“I never meant to ask you to give up your life here.” Maybe this was all a lot of wishful thinking on her part, but Jadzia had really hoped Garak might be able to get them the proof they needed.

“Didn’t you? Oh, don’t tell me. You imagined I might be able to instantly find documentation revealing those involved in the deaths, or failing that, I could keep Bashir from being killed and hide him safely for a few days so you and Sisko could definitively prove the existence of a longstanding scheme to murder the genetically engineered, expose it, thereby cause extensive soul-searching, and all this would lead to change which would see the doctor exonerated and safely back on the station within the week.”

“Not exactly.” She hadn’t really thought Julian would be allowed to keep his commission, anyway, and he had not exaggerated how obnoxious Garak could be when largely right.

Garak wasn’t fooled. “Please, Commander. If you’re going to be that naïve, pretend you never heard of this operation. You have no idea what you’re dealing with, and you’re liable to get yourself killed.”

“You know,” said Jadzia. “And you’re doing it anyway.” She was starting to think Julian meant more to him than he’d ever let on.

“Yes. And I, at least, am aware how dangerous it is. I hope you’re a good liar. Starfleet Internal Affairs will be very interested in your visits to my shop just before I go break the most feared man in the sector out of custody. Now, are you still willing to help?”

“Yes,” she said, keeping her voice level. She’d deal with the consequences if she had to, but there was no way she’d do nothing while Julian was murdered to protect an outdated paranoia. “Can you hack the internal transporter and delete all record?”

“Why?”

“One less trip to your shop I’ll have to explain to Internal Affairs.”

“You’re learning,” said Garak. “Very well. Where do you want to go?”

“My quarters. Chamber 32, Habitat Level H-1.”

Garak started entering commands on his computer. “May I ask why?”

“I’ve won some latinum from Quark. Julian will need it more than I do.”

She asked for five minutes, which gave her time to replicate paper and write a quick note which she stuck it in the bottom of the bag. The latinum went in after. It wasn’t a huge amount, but it could only help.

This was so incredibly wrong. Jadzia wanted to stop it, to reveal to the entire Federation what had been going on and keep Julian safe at the same time, but in her heart she knew Garak was right. Less than five hours was not long enough, and the only miracle they could hope to pull off was getting Julian out of Federation space alive.

When she materialized back in Garak’s shop, she gave him the bag of latinum and said, “I always knew my tongo skills would be useful.”

“I’ll make sure he knows it’s from you,” said Garak. “You realize, of course, he won’t be able to keep in contact. It would not be safe for either of you.”

“I figured.” Another aspect of this she hated. “Maybe someday.”

Garak didn’t look hopeful, but then, when did he ever?

“You’ll have your distraction, and your six minutes on the malfunctioning alarm. I’ll look out for Ziyal. And Garak, thank you. I know you’re not doing it for me, but I asked more than I realized, so I’ll always be grateful.”

He nodded slightly. “If I may offer a word of advice.”

“I’m open to it.” It never hurt to listen to the voice of experience.

“Before you rush headlong into a fight for justice, consider how easily your own death could be staged. Also, chose your distraction in light of how easy it will be to explain away.”

She’d hoped for something more helpful than a dire warning, but he did have a point. “I’ll keep it in mind. Good luck.”

“I never rely on luck,” said Garak.

“Thank you,” she said again, finding the words very inadequate.

From his shop, Jadzia went to her lab and called O’Brien in, ostensibly to discuss the integration of equipment upgrades which she had been interested in making work with the Cardassian systems. Now it all seemed unimportant.

“How can I help you, Commander?”

“It’s more how you can help Julian,” she said.

“He made me promise not to get involved. Said he doesn’t want me to suffer for his crimes.” O’Brien shifted uncomfortably, clearly not at peace with agreeing to Julian’s request.

“I know, Chief, but we have reason to believe he’ll never make it to Starbase 375 alive.”

“What?!?”

“Shh. We’re not going to let that happen. Garak needs you to ignore a malfunctioning alarm in secondary ore processing section three for six minutes.”

“I can give him eight if I rig something more important,” said O’Brien, radiating distress. “What’s going on?”

“We’re still trying to figure that out, but Julian’s not the first Augment to join Starfleet, and they keep ending up dead before they can be court-martialed.”

“My God.”

Jadzia couldn’t in good conscience fail to warn the chief how much trouble he could get into. “If Garak is right, any involvement in this is a huge risk.”

“I’m not gonna sit back and let Julian be killed.”

“Neither am I. But you have a family. If it comes to it, say I ordered you to ignore the alarm. I won’t hold it against you, and I’ll take responsibility for it.” This was Garak’s plan, but Jadzia went to him, so she’d be the one to take the fall if the worst came to pass.

“That bad?” asked O’Brien.

“Yes.” If Garak was to be believed – and he did have more experience in this area than the rest of them put together – the situation was as bad as it could possibly get.

“Okay. Anything else you need me to do? What’s the plan?”

“Garak said it’s better if he didn’t tell us.”

O’Brien gulped. “I hope he knows what he’s doing.”

“So do I.”

* * *

 

Garak would have preferred not to involve O’Brien. The less people involved in a plan such as this, the better. Still, he had very little time with which to work, multiple computer overrides to write, and station alarms not meant to be reprogrammed instantly. It was typical of the Federation to put alarms wherever the least bit of toxic residue might be found. The chief came through, regardless. Garak was able to enter the section in question, remove a hidden panel, and retrieve two large canisters of entathyrene gas which remained from the Occupation. It was three minutes’ work to detach them from the remote release program, originally designed in case of a localized uprising among Bajorans, and stash them in his carryall.

Now he just needed Dax to provide the distraction.

As he approached the docking bay it became apparent she had concocted a plan sure to interest the station’s overactive gossips. By the time Garak reached his destination, she was engaged in a heated discussion with Worf, attracting ever more attention.

“We always do Klingon programs. Why won’t you come to the Hoobishan Baths with me?”

“I am not interested in being… pampered.”

“That’s why it’s called compromise.”

“Jadzia. You are being unreasonably loud.”

“ _Unreasonable?_ ” Dax exclaimed this at such volume that everyone in the immediate vicinity turned her way. Nobody was likely to pay Garak any mind.

“Loud,” said Worf. “We can continue this conversation in private.”

“No, we can continue it right now.”

Garak slipped into the airlock and uploaded the program he’d written to give him access to the transport.

“Perhaps Major Kira will accompany you to the Hoobishan Baths.”

“That’s not the point and you know it. Is it really too much to ask for my par’Machai to keep me company for an hour? How many glorious battles have I fought with you?”

“You like the battles.”

“Not all the time! I do them to be with you, and you haven’t even tried the Hoobishan Baths.”

“I do not wish to discuss this further in a public setting.”

“Well that’s just too bad, Worf.”

Garak entered the transport. Using his _pan’tod_ – which he found much superior to a Federation tricorder – he was easily able to avoid encountering any of the few crewmembers who remained aboard. They, after all, were not scanning for any Cardassian lifesigns.

He came to the most disagreeable part of this mission: concealing himself in a Jefferies tube until the ship departed. It was unavoidable, but he delayed entering for as long as possible. Then he resigned himself and crawled inside. At least these old Starfleet ships had comfortable lighting: not too bright, but not as dark as the walls of the internment camp. And he was not closed in on all sides, he reasoned. Not that claustrophobia was especially responsive to logic.

For a much-needed distraction, he focused on the details of his plan. Starfleet made it so easy. Before leaving, they failed to scan their ships for lifesigns and check the results against the ship manifests, instead relying on their computer codes to protect them from intruders. If only the Jefferies tubes were more spacious, this whole process would be child’s play.

Temporary confinement notwithstanding, he had a mission. Not a vital one in the tapestry of the universe, perhaps, but it presented him with a purpose, and Garak embraced this wholeheartedly. He could do nothing for Cardassia, which would never cease to pain him. He could, however, keep Bashir alive, and that was his new motivation in life.

It was good to have a purpose again. That it should be to protect a man from just the kind of operations in which Garak used to participate was novel, but he did love a challenge.

And he wouldn’t have to give up his lunch companion, after all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With thanks for the kind comments on Chapter 1. =) We're up to a 4 part story, now.

It really was almost too easy. Once the ship was well underway – far enough from the station while still only on the edge of Federation space – Garak left the Jefferies tube with great relief, made for the nearest weapons locker, and helped himself to a phaser.

He had his disruptors, of course, but in deference to Bashir’s sensibilities he was avoiding the taking of lives unless forced to, at which point he would not hesitate. While Garak didn’t enjoy killing people, if doing so was necessary it didn’t trouble him. The doctor felt otherwise, and Garak did not want to deal with any more tiresome human guilt or moral agony than he absolutely had to. So he told himself, anyway. It was possible he simply wanted to spare Bashir the experience.  

Starfleet barely even tried to keep their ship layouts secret. One flimsy layer of encryption was practically an invitation to this extremely useful information, and Garak therefore knew exactly the shortest route to his next destination, the primary atmospheric processing hub.

Once he stunned the crewmen therein, it was a simple matter to introduce the entathyrene to the ship’s air supply. That schematic hadn’t been well protected, either. And to think, Bashir used to ask why Cardassians were so secretive about everything. Information was a weapon, one Starfleet handed it out freely half the time and barely attempted to secure in most other instances.

Garak had lied to Dax. He was perfectly capable of granting himself access to the files she desired, and in fact, had already read through one of them before her second visit to his shop. He had not, however, lied about lacking sufficient time to hack into every file she wanted, or how little the documents would aid Bashir. The one he’d read was singularly unhelpful. There had been no obvious clues to suggest anything beyond an unfortunate, fatal escape attempt, which meant the scheme was well-managed. A few classified but unremarkable files weren’t enough to halt and expose an ongoing Section 31 operation, particularly with so few hours in which to work. No, Garak’s time had been better spent planning the rescue – after confirming with an independent source that the operation existed, naturally.

He did wonder who aboard was the Section 31 agent, or agents. Security personnel would be the sensible choice. It hardly mattered, because the entire crew was about to be incapacitated. 

Entathyrene was useful during the occupation of Bajor for subduing wayward Bajorans because the gas caused rapid loss of consciousness in most species. Cardassians were not so afflicted (though it did induce a headache Garak could’ve done without). It therefore suited his purposes ideally. He simply attached the canisters of entathyrene into the atmospheric filters, and within seconds it began to spread through the ship. He could tell, because his head pounded.

Well, it was only pain. He’d worked through much worse, and was gratified to peer around the nearest department and find crewmembers slumped over their stations or sprawled on the floor. The further reaches of the ship would soon feature the same scene.

This was going marvelously.

From the atmospheric processing hub Garak made his way to the transporter room. Intraship transporters showed one human lifesign in the brig, as expected. In short order he’d moved Bashir from the brig to the shuttlebay.

At the nearest computer uplink he once again relied on his _pan’tod_ to upload a program compiled from several little projects he’d designed over the years. The key lay in the way he managed to fool the ship’s computer into thinking the _pan’tod_ was a Starfleet tricorder, thus bypassing several layers of security at once. That particular trick he’d developed a few years back when business was slow. Link established, he introduced a virus into the ship’s central computer.

Entathyrene exposure would only disable the crew for, depending on species, thirty-five to eighty minutes. Plenty of time to escape, but not enough for a comfortable lead on avoiding recapture. Therefore, Garak had to further disable either the crew or the ship.

His virus would interfere with all ship’s systems. Most importantly, it would render propulsion and communications inoperable. (Life support had a redundant computer to keep the crew alive, which Bashir’s conscience would appreciate.) It was not insurmountable – Garak hadn’t enjoyed a great deal of time in which to create this program – but the crew would need several hours to purge all systems. During that time, they would be unable to follow him or contact another ship.

It did mean he couldn’t transport himself to the shuttlebay, thereby requiring him to spend several minutes walking through the silent ship. Once in the shuttlebay, it was then a trifling matter to drag the doctor’s unresponsive body into the nearest shuttle, blast their way through the bay doors with phasers set to maximum, and be well rid of the transport ship. Honestly, Starfleet might as well have asked for this, with how ridiculously simple it was. Not even one automated security lockdown. They ought to be ashamed of themselves.

He set his course and engaged the shuttle’s maximum warp capability.

* * *

 

Julian’s head throbbed and his throat was parched. It felt like a nasty hangover, and he took a moment to recall his last actions for a clue of how he got in this condition. He’d been staring at the wall of the brig, no alcohol involved, which told him very little. There was nothing for it but to open his eyes.

Another ceiling in standard Starfleet gray. That didn’t answer any questions.

“Hello, Doctor.”

“Garak?” He tried to sit up, only to give himself a hideous case of vertigo.

“I don’t think the entathyrene has entirely worn off yet.”

“Entathyrene?” Yes, that would explain his symptoms. It also… oh, no. “Tell me you didn’t break me out of the brig.”

He had. They were on one of the older model Starfleet shuttles, the kind carried by the transport bringing him to Starbase 375, and Garak looked exceptionally pleased with himself. This was very, very bad.

Julian sat up despite the dizziness. “Take me back. This is going to fuel every negative stereotype about Augments and I refuse to be party to making the situation worse.”

“Yes, those stereotypes,” said Garak, taking on an air of philosophical musing. “Fascinating how one never hears of a counterargument to them. Of course, that might be because every Augment discovered in Starfleet is killed in an escape attempt before they can be brought to trial.”

“What? I’ve never heard of that.” And he’d researched the subject at length.

“Undoubtedly because the incidents are so highly classified. One wonders how the associates of the deceased are kept quiet. Blackmail? Death threats? Further staged deaths? Well, it hardly matters.”

It sure as hell mattered to Julian.

“The point is that you were going to appear to provide proof for your detractors whether I rescued you or not. At least this way you get to live.”

Julian felt like he might throw up, and that was not a symptom of entathyrene exposure. “Tell me everything.”

“I’m afraid even your idealism will not survive this.”

“It’s a little late for that, don’t you think?”

“Very well. Your friend Dax took it upon herself to investigate precedent, and may I say, your legal system is peculiarly obsessed with the concept.”

“There is none in the last century.” When he was a teenager, Julian spent most of a summer looking for every scrap of information he could find on his peers. What he’d learned was that the majority were never discovered, and those who were tended to be the unfortunate souls who didn’t end up the way their designers had hoped.

Julian was far from the only Augment in the Federation, and statistically unlikely to be the only one in Starfleet. He just had the misfortune to be caught, by which he meant he had a reckless, thoughtless father.

Garak’s eyeridges rose slightly in disagreement. “We covered that, Doctor. There is precedent, it’s simply been classified. Dax convinced Sisko to ask a friend at Starfleet JAG, who informed him of the deaths. I already had my suspicions, mind you.”

“You always do.” If there was one constant in the universe, it was Garak being suspicious.

“Even Dax had concerns about a one hundred percent fatality rate among the allegedly escaping prisoners. Still, the most obvious piece of evidence is that these violent escape attempts have never been publicized, when they would so perfectly prove the supposed danger of genetic engineering.”

“You’re saying there’s an ongoing unsanctioned operation to kill Augments discovered in Starfleet and make it look like they died trying to escape custody?” It seemed too outrageous for truth, but that might have been Julian’s aching desire not to believe such a thing could happen.

“I said no such thing. An operation of this type is never entirely unsanctioned.”

As though that made it better. “Black ops,” said Julian, recalling a rumor he’d overheard at Quark’s and dismissed as nonsense. “I thought those were the adult version of the bogeyman.”

Garak paused his professorial act. “The what?”

“A creature invented to scare children.”

“Remind me to ask you later why humans take so much joy from terrifying their offspring. Now, having discovered this distressing pattern, Dax asked me for assistance.”

“She asked you to break me out of custody?”

“No, she asked me to find proof of what she considers a conspiracy, but it wasn’t possible in the time available. I confirmed my suspicions with an independent source…”

“One not inclined to help stop people from being murdered, I take it,” said Julian, and if that came out a touch bitter, he thought he was well within his rights. He’d known people would hate him for his augmentations, but wanting him dead? That was something else altogether.

“Naturally,” said Garak. “The individual in question only owed me a small favor, not risking their life. Having determined you were, in fact, shortly to be killed, I took it upon myself to rescue you.”

“By yourself?” As much as it warmed him to know his friends cared, Julian hadn’t wanted them to hurt their careers on his behalf, never mind attract the attention of black ops. He honestly didn’t know which would be worse, if they hadn’t worked with Garak, or if they did.

Of course, in their shoes, he’d have helped without hesitation.

“Dax kindly agreed to provide a distraction, though I’m not certain if Worf was aware the fight was for show. It was an impressive display, I’ll admit. Her performance was inspired. Oh yes, Chief O’Brien delayed attending to a malfunctioning alarm.”

Julian dropped his pounding head in his hands. He was so grateful they cared even knowing the truth about him, and yet… “They could get into trouble because of me. And you – you gave up your whole life.”

“It wasn’t much of a life.”

“Still.”

It wasn’t supposed to be this way. He’d wanted to go quietly and let everyone else move on without suffering consequences from attempting to intervene on his behalf. Now Garak had left everything behind to save him, Jadzia, Miles, and maybe even Worf risked their own court-martials for abetting, and there was another black mark against Sisko in Command’s view. And in the end, it was Julian’s fault for joining Starfleet in the first place when he knew full well he wasn’t allowed.

“Besides,” said Garak, “This whole adventure is quite invigorating.”

Julian eyed him. “Did you kill anyone?”

“No. Dax reminded me you wouldn’t cooperate if I did.”

“Garak, if you’re lying…”

“It would make no difference one way or the other, because the deaths would be my doing, not yours. However, I am not lying. It was not necessary to kill anyone, though I doubt they’ll thank me for the entathyrene exposure. I’m told it’s quite unpleasant for most species.”

He desperately hoped Garak was telling the truth. But there was no way to know, was there? This was so, so much worse than he’d ever imagined.

“Do you think they’ll kill my parents?” Just because he wasn’t close to them didn’t mean he could accept their deaths with equanimity.

“I really don’t know, and all of this is their fault in the first place.”

Julian understood. Garak _was_ perfectly equanimous about the possibility of their deaths, which came as no surprise.

“Now, I recommend you order anything you want from a Federation replicator while you have the chance.”

“We’re going to abandon the shuttle, then.”

“No, I’m going to destroy it to avoid leaving any clues about the next phase of our escape. Why, they’d analyze it down to the keystrokes if given a chance. It’s fortunate I’m looking out for you. I fright to think how you’d fare on your own.”

Julian sighed and dragged himself over to the replicator. Then he stopped short at the realization he’d been extremely ungrateful, and there was simply no excuse for it. “Garak. Thank you. I never imagined… well, thank you seems a bit insufficient for saving my life.”

“You’re quite welcome,” said Garak, before turning his attention to the controls.

* * *

 

Garak would give Starfleet this much: their shuttle controls were highly intuitive. It wasn’t ideal from a security standpoint, but it did make piloting a stolen vessel less troublesome than could be expected otherwise.

“I imagine you did something to keep them from following us,” said Bashir.

“Of course I did. And before you ask, the method wasn’t fatal. I disabled their propulsion and communication. Starfleet will be hours behind us, though the exact number of hours depends on the competence of their computer engineers.”

Satisfied on the point, Bashir began replicating clothing which would probably fit him hideously.

They crossed out of Federation space and into the demilitarized zone. Not that Section 31 would hesitate to pursue them further, but it did mean Starfleet lacked lawful options to force Bashir’s return. Garak was not eager to remain near Cardassian space either – Dukat would only be too happy to capture him, and there were any number of schemes in which the doctor would be a useful pawn – so he planned to stay only long enough to switch vessels.

“Damn it. This replicator is too old to produce a universal translator.”

“I brought you one.”

“You thought of everything, didn’t you?” asked Bashir in admiration.

Garak certainly hoped he had.

“Dax asked me to give you this,” he said when Bashir had filled a carryall and taken possession of the shuttle’s medkit. He passed the bag of latinum to the doctor. “She said you have the greater need.”

Bashir still seemed in awe of the efforts made to save his life. Did he truly expect so little from his friends? It was hardly in line with his usual optimism, though perhaps that was in large part a lie. Garak was rather intrigued at the prospect of finding out.

From the bottom of the bag, Bashir removed a piece of paper. “She wrote a note?” asked Garak. He didn’t know what topics were covered at Starfleet Academy, but prudence was clearly not among them. “How flattering.”

“Flattering?”

“Her estimation of my abilities. If I’d been caught, that would have been very incriminating evidence as to her involvement.”

Bashir immediately consigned the paper to the replicator. At least he showed proper caution, a trait he would need to cultivate to stay alive.

“Where are we going, Garak?”

It was a reasonable question. The list of places in the galaxy where a human and Cardassian might be inconspicuous was shorter than Garak would have liked. His own life expectancy would be better served parting ways. Bashir’s, on the other hand, was quite dismal in that scenario. Section 31 would doubtless be looking for the doctor and, while not known for particular efficiency by Cardassian standards, they were noted for persistence.

“I have not yet decided our final destination,” said Garak.

“Mathen?” suggested Bashir. “There’s a precedent for giving dissident Cardassians sanctuary.”

“I assure you Ghemor’s case was not at all similar to my own. Besides, the Mathenites are likely to ally themselves with the Federation against the Dominion, so it’s not a safe option. We will consider once we’ve changed ships.”

“Are we stealing another one?”

“Not as such. Now, if you’ll excuse me a moment, I’m sure the Order updated codes and frequencies since I was last given them, so I’ll need silence to work quickly.”

Bashir, while clearly curious, obligingly said nothing. Garak dropped out of warp and connected with the hidden controller, typing furiously to override the Order’s system, which wasn’t hard because he’d helped design the framework. And to think, most people on the station thought Garak a common interrogator or assassin. Not that he wasn’t both when required – agents needed to be well-rounded in their talents - but his specialty was breaching computers. Anyone in the Order could’ve gone to Romulus to assassinate senators. Not many were capable of accessing the Tal Shiar’s computers without leaving a trace, and Garak’s mission to do just that had been a resounding success.

There was only one Cardassian of Garak’s generation who could best him: the woman who’d designed the station’s last anti-insurgency plan. Fortunately, she worked for Central Command, which meant she wasn’t allowed anywhere near Order systems. He disarmed the defense protocols with time to spare. Whoever had upgraded them did a passable job, yes, but not such a thorough one as to keep Garak out.

“We may now initiate transport,” he announced.

Bashir eyed the viewscreen and its vista of asteroid field. “To where? An asteroid?”

“You’ll see. I suppose you need valid Starfleet codes to initiate this shuttle’s self-destruct, don’t you. No matter. We’ll do it the old-fashioned way.” It required bypassing every safety protocol, as the computer repeatedly informed him.

“This class of shuttles is susceptible to antimatter leakage,” said Bashir. When Garak looked at him in surprise, he shrugged. “I have an excellent memory. Don’t ask me how to start a leak, though.”

“One doesn’t need detailed hardware knowledge, if one is good enough with software.” Not for Garak’s purposes, at any rate. He worked his way to the warp core controls, grateful for all the time he’d spent studying Federation Standard and their programming languages. “There.”

“Warp core breach in ninety seconds,” intoned the computer.

“Collect your belongings,” he said, then retrieved his own carryall and initiated transport.

They materialized inside the stale but breathable atmosphere of a large asteroid, hollowed out to conceal a ship. “Congratulations, Doctor. I do believe you’re the first human to see the inside of an Order safe haven.”

Bashir didn’t seem particularly honored, but he was duly impressed. “I guess Starfleet will know about this soon enough.”

“We’ll be gone then, and it’s unlikely they’ll think to look for a Ferengi ship.” Ferengi to outward appearances, at least. It had been heavily modified inside. “Besides, we’re going to destroy the asteroid, as well.”

“I’m noticing a theme here.”

“I’d be concerned if you hadn’t.”

He ushered Bashir aboard the ship, which was fully stocked with everything they’d need in the short term. Garak planned to keep this vessel unless forced to destroy it. Without its replicator, he didn’t expect he’d enjoy a decent cup of red leaf tea again.

“How far do you think they’ll chase me?” asked Bashir.

“It’s hard to say,” he replied, which was not entirely false. “Your escape, happening as it did with an accomplice of my reputation, will in large part neutralize the threat you pose to the ideological foundation of your state.”

“Is that what I am?”

“Naturally. Still, I would be surprised if there isn’t at least a token effort to find you.” Exactly how much effort depended on factors Garak could not presume to know. The escape gave credence to the Federation’s preferred attitude towards the genetically enhanced, so in that regard Garak had done Section 31 a favor, but it was never wise to underestimate anyone’s desire for revenge.

Resigned despair was not a good look on Bashir’s expressive face.

The asteroid had been rigged with explosives which could be triggered from inside the ship, which was the safest way to accomplish these things. Garak launched the vessel and immediately destroyed the asteroid. It was always best to leave as few clues as possible.

“Now we will go to the Ferengi Alliance,” he informed Bashir. “From there it will be next to impossible to follow our warp trail if anyone does think to look for a Ferengi ship. We’ll blend in with every other one looking for latinum. A few stops in Alliance space, and we’ll lose everyone.” When the doctor failed to respond, he added, “The engines are Ferengi, but the interface is Cardassian. I’ll have to teach you to operate this system.”

Bashir remained silent.

“Doctor?”

“They want to kill me.”

“Yes, I know.”

“The Federation wants to kill me and make me look dangerous in the bargain.”

Garak would’ve preferred if this crisis of ruined idealism could have waited for a more convenient time. Perhaps when he himself was asleep. “I’m sorry, Doctor.”

“I never had a chance, did I?”

“To live? Certainly. I’m seeing to that.”

“No. A chance to demonstrate that not all Augments are a threat. A chance to serve my sentence and go on quietly with my life as a counterexample to the fear and hatred.”

Oh, that. “No, I’m afraid not.”

Bashir was, by his standards, unnaturally quiet and still. He stared out the viewscreen without paying it any mind.

Garak had no idea what to do with a radically disillusioned human. Personally, he’d known the universe and his place in it from a very young age. Cardassians did not, as a rule, believe in raising children with unrealistic expectations, his mother less than most. Then he was old enough to know who his father was, and a few years later to know what tasks he would have to embrace to earn Tain’s attention… Garak had been disabused of his illusions for so long, he truly didn’t know how a man in his fourth decade could have any left. He supposed it was Bashir’s stubbornness at work again.

“Who are they?” asked Bashir.

Garak did not relish being the one to so thoroughly crush the doctor’s view of the universe. He had long thought Bashir’s perceived reality would be a pleasant one in which to live, if only it existed.

“Who wants me dead, Garak?”

There was nothing to be gained by withholding the information, and Bashir had a steep learning curve if he was going to stay alive. “The Federation’s covert operations agency goes by the banal name Section 31.”

In Cardassi, ‘Obsidian Order’ spoke to unopposable strength. Tal Shiar was Romulan for ‘hidden knife.’ Section 31 sounded as though someone was specifying a location within a warehouse.

Bashir refused to be distracted by semantic considerations. “A threat to the ideological foundation of the Federation. Because if genetic resequencing can produce stable people able to function in society like anyone else, then too many people will want it, for themselves or their children.”

“Precisely. Although why that would be so terrible, I can’t say.”

“Depending on the abilities of the geneticists performing the procedures, fifteen to thirty-one percent of patients aren’t what anyone considers success stories,” said Bashir.

That explained much. Of course the Federation wouldn’t want such a large section of its population to be of no use to the state. Cardassians were much more selective with their genetic tinkering, and smaller enhancements carried very little risk, so no one thought much of them and Garak had consequently wondered at the Federation’s paranoia. Now it all made sense.

“Commander Dax is of the opinion that the Federation should have conversations about this subject and consider the possibility that prevailing wisdom is wrong,” he said, hoping this would reassure the doctor.

“It is, in that I’ve no desire to be Khan. All I want is to help people.”

“Khan?” asked Garak. He’d looked the individual up, but wanted to hear Bashir’s perspective.

“A tyrant from Earth’s Eugenics Wars.”

“You would be a dismal failure as a tyrant,” said Garak truthfully. “Presuming you could make it to the position in the first place, which I doubt, you’d be deposed or assassinated in less than a week.”

“Would I?” asked Bashir, mildly amused.

“Instead of ensuring the obedience of your subjects, you’d be too busy trying to heal and befriend them. No, Doctor, we must face the facts. You’re simply not cut out for tyranny.”

Bashir frowned. “I wish the Federation agreed. Superior ability breeds superior ambition, that’s the accepted wisdom.”

“It ought to,” said Garak. When the doctor looked at him in consternation, he elaborated. “This doesn’t mean you’re genetically predisposed to take over the galaxy. I’ve seen your ambition, and it appears to revolve around setting records for the most medical breakthroughs made in a decade. Hardly something the Federation needs to discourage.”

“Still, I can see your point that it’s opening a Pandora’s box.”

“I don’t know who Pandora is, either.” This time, he was truly unfamiliar with the referenced individual.

“A mythical figure who opened a box and thereby let myriad evils out into the world,” said Bashir.

How odd. “Humans have the strangest mythologies. But you’ve misunderstood, Doctor. I was presenting what I imagine to be the perspective of your state. Personally, I believe the Federation is at fault.”

“Do tell.”

“For most species, it’s natural to seek advantage for one’s children, is it not? Genetic engineering is a more extreme example than most, but anyone with half a brain can foresee that some people will find it attractive.”

“And that’s the Federation’s fault how?”

“They’ve failed to make it difficult enough,” said Garak. “If they aren’t going to commit to preventing the procedure, taking measures to test for it and thus making detection a foregone conclusion, they might as well establish regulations and permit it.”

Bashir’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “If that’s a lie, it’s a good one.”

“It’s a perfectly reasonable point.”

When the doctor fell silent again, Garak let him adjust to his new understanding of the universe.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are again, another story getting away from me. Eagle-eyed readers will note the chapter count has jumped from 3 to 5, by way of 4. The guys just keep talking, and Julian continues to find new topics about which to fret.
> 
> I've decided to completely ignore Garak's actions in "Broken Link" here. And why not? TBTB never addressed the consequences of him trying to destroy the Founder's planet. So, it didn't happen in this AU.

“I don’t know how I can ever thank you,” said Julian as they sped towards the Ferengi Alliance. Horrible as it was to learn this Section 31 deemed him dangerous enough to the Federation that they wanted to kill him – and he wouldn’t pretend to be anything but in shock over the news – he clung to the knowledge of how much his friends were willing to risk in order to save his life. Their concern meant everything.

It was all he had left.

Garak looked up from his perusal of the ship’s controls. “You can accept self-defense lessons. I very much doubt the cursory training you received was ever sufficient, and as it couldn’t account for your true physical abilities if the station rumors were true, we’ll have to start from the beginning.”

“If the rumors said I’m stronger and faster than I should be, they’re true. How is that thanking you?”

“It will make my job easier,” said Garak.

“Your job.”

“Protecting you, of course.”

“You’re planning to stay with me?” Julian had imagined Garak would wish him well and send him on his way. That would be the safer course of action.

“I did not go through the trouble of stealing you from custody merely to delay your death by a week or two, Doctor. I intend to put it off for many years, which is much easier accomplished in person. Unless you’d rather I didn’t.” He grew guarded on the last sentence.

Julian could hardly believe it. This was Garak, who looked out for himself and Cardassia, the rest of the universe be damned, offering to protect him for the foreseeable future. The magnitude of his generosity continued to grow.

Because he doubted Garak would appreciate heartfelt sentiment, he simply said, “I’m happy to have you as my personal bodyguard, and the self-defense lessons sound like an excellent idea. As you know, I’m already a good shot if it comes to that. With non-lethal weapons, of course.”

Garak’s eyeridges moved up a few millimeters as he realized the implication. “The bullet hit precisely where you aimed.”

“Excellent hand-eye coordination, and enough rounds in the holosuite that I had an idea how the weapon worked.”

“Is there anything about you that wasn’t enhanced?”

Julian couldn’t help an instinctive bristling reaction to the inquiry. Garak obviously picked up on that, because he clarified, “I’m simply trying to ascertain the best options for your self-defense lessons.”

“I know,” said Julian. “It’s a loaded question.”

“You realize I attach no moral disapproval to your answers.”

It was no good to let his issues interfere with learning the skills he’d need in this new life. “Interpersonal skills,” Julian said at last. He had to work harder on those than any class he ever took. “As for the rest, my parents were mostly concerned with mental abilities. Those come in many forms. Some people can perform complex calculations in their heads. Others are so emotionally attuned to those around them you could be forgiven for thinking they’re empathic. I have an almost perfect memory, and I see how systems work together, the patterns which form a cohesive whole. It’s difficult to explain, but it’s part of what makes me such a good doctor.”

Some people saw the forest, others the trees. Julian saw both, as well as an entire ecosystem from insects to apex predators, fungi to ferns – all at once. It was his particular form of intelligence, combined with his prodigious memory.

“I’m content to take your word for it,” said Garak.

“As for the physical, nearly everything but my sense of taste, smell, and skin sensitivity is above human average: strength, agility, stamina, reflexes, hand-eye coordination, hearing, vision. Some, such as stamina, are within the higher end of the range humans are born with. Others are extreme outliers or downright unheard of for non-augmented humans. Those would be my vision and reflexes, respectively.”

There. It was all out in the open now, everything Julian had spent years hiding, the reasons he’d always known people would hate and fear him.

The reasons people wanted him dead.

Garak, thank God, wasn’t worried about anything besides self-defense, or if he was, he declined to say so. “All very useful, with the right application. Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Sharing information you would have preferred to keep private.”

“It seemed counterproductive to hold on to my secrets as the expense of getting us killed,” said Julian, though he was glad Garak understood how difficult it was to reel off that list. If anyone understood reluctance to disclose long-held secrets, it would be Garak.

“Most assuredly. I would advise you, however, to maintain some secrecy. Not around me, but in general, you ought not advertise the precise level of your abilities. Allow people to underestimate you.”

“I have to keep hiding?” He’d hoped the silver lining in all of this might be that he could stop holding himself back.

“Not as much as before. Simply do not proclaim or demonstrate the full extent of your strength, for example, unless you must. Let people think your range of hearing is what one expects from a human. Surprise is often the most powerful weapon one can wield.”

Julian sighed. He hated to think that all of this was important, that he had covert ops agents actively hoping to track him down to be killed and needed to learn from Garak in order to survive. Still, he knew having a pity party wasn’t going to help in any way, tempting as the prospect was. Therefore, he would learn.

“Besides,” added Garak. “Section 31 will be looking for you, and you don’t want to make their job easier.”

It was a good point. Julian obviously had a lot to consider.

Asking questions of Garak rarely earned a straight answer, and when it did, the reply was probably a lie. Still, he wondered something, and had nothing to lose by voicing his curiosity. “Garak, why are you doing this?”

“The simplest of all reasons, Doctor: because I want to.”

That answered exactly nothing, but Garak’s enigmatic smile told Julian no further details would be forthcoming. Very well. He wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth.

* * *

 

Five hours out from the now-destroyed safe haven, they approached a Ferengi station in Ketra-kol space, the home of an insignificant power a few light-years from Alliance territory. “Last I heard,” Garak explained to the doctor, “the owner of this station stopped charging docking fees.”

“Docking fees?” Bashir had evidently never dreamed of such a thing. “Of course, the Ferengi would charge for that.”

“Some, however, have discovered that by waiving the fee, they attract more visitors, and are therefore able to command higher rents from those who do business on their stations. It works out very well for us.”

“So does the Ferengi policy of never signing extradition treaties, once we get to Alliance space,” added Bashir.

“Extradition treaties are only for people who worry about legalities, which Section 31 does not, I’m sorry to inform you. All the same, it does remove one concern. Now, I will spend an hour or two aboard this station, gathering information if possible. At the very least the stop will make it harder to follow us.” He didn’t think they were being followed, unless Section 31 was in possession of a cloaking device, which would be a very worrisome development. Still, better to err on the side of caution.

Bashir asked, “What am I going to do?”

“Wear this.” Garak attached a sleek device to the doctor’s wrist. “As long as it’s on and you remain in the ship, your biosigns will be masked. I should look into modifying a spare to suggest you’re another species. Betazoid would work very nicely, no cosmetic changes required.”

“I don’t think I can fool anyone into thinking I’m telepathic or empathic,” said Bashir, and he was probably right.

“A half-Betazoid, perhaps, one who didn’t inherit any mental powers of note. Well, we can work out the details later. It’s good to have a variety of identities at one’s disposal.” Garak had documentation for six of his own.

Once Bashir was properly outfitted, Garak took a small amount of latinum from his carryall. He hoped to come back with more rather than less, if he could find a buyer for one or two harmless but potentially profitable pieces of information. Finally, he took a large bite of the spicy tuber he’d replicated earlier.

“What’s that?” asked the doctor.

“Nahzvee, a root used to make what is colloquially known as…”

“Vulcan coffee, I know.”

“Toxic to many species, I understand, including your own, but we Cardassians are made of sterner stuff. I find it an energizing snack.”

“It’s a strong stimulant,” said Bashir. “That explains your increased rate of respiration, and possibly the slight vasoconstriction of ridges I noticed earlier.”

There really was no fooling the man about medical subjects. Garak would know, since he’d never managed the feat for an affliction worse than a mild headache, so he allowed, “It may have one or two temporary side effects of no concern.”

“Forgive me if I don’t rely on your medical judgement.” Bashir pulled the tricorder from his medical kit and started scanning.

“Really, Doctor, you’re overreacting.”

“You just bit your tongue. Don’t tell me: you can’t feel it.”

He couldn’t, but that was a minor detail which only lasted a few minutes. “Nahzvee isn’t addictive, if that’s what you’re worried about, and I’m fine.”

“You’d say you were fine if you were bleeding to death,” said Bashir.

Garak ended the conversation by the simple expediency of taking the ship out of warp and hailing the station. The doctor’s concern notwithstanding, he needed to be alert and didn’t have time to sleep in these first critical hours. That would come later. Now he had work to do.

His trip was moderately successful. While he only found a buyer interested in the minor information, he learned a great deal about the current situation in the immediate region, including political considerations on the outskirts of the Ferengi Alliance, and found an opportunity to access the station’s computer looking for any news he and Bashir were being sought in the vicinity. There was no message to that effect, though that didn’t mean Section 31 could be discounted.

Discounting enemies often ended in fatality.

“What are you doing?” he asked when he returned to the ship. Bashir had human playing cards, which Garak recognized from Quark’s poker tournaments, but was doing something odd with them.

“I’m building a house of cards.” The whole creation collapsed at Bashir’s feet. “Correction: I was building a house of cards, and it was a very good one. I got bored with solitaire.”

“I’ll set you up with an instructional Cardassi program so you can make better use of your time,” said Garak. “You’ll need it to operate the ship.”

“Does it have a name?”

“Linguistic teaching program.”

“The ship, Garak.”

“Not yet. I’ll let you know when I decide on one. I’ve always wanted to name a starship, you know.”

The Ferengi were known for selling their vessels to anyone, so it wasn’t terribly odd for a Cardassian to own one. The matter of a human traveling companion was more unusual, and Garak was busy coming up with plausible explanations, therefore, naming the ship would have to wait.

Bashir picked up the mess he’d made of his cards. Humans had the strangest pastimes. “What now?”

“Now we proceed into the Ferengi Alliance.”

“And then you sleep?”

“Eventually. Staying alive and undiscovered are the priorities, but I’m sure I’ll fit in sleep sooner or later. Come observe the piloting protocols, Doctor. Are you able to see in this light?”

“Perfectly. Does this as-yet unnamed ship use a similar flight system to Starfleet runabouts?”

“I really wouldn’t know.”

“And I’m the King of England,” muttered Bashir. “Alright, show me how it’s done.”

* * *

 

Garak did finally sleep for six hours, after setting a dozen alarms and instructing Julian to wake him the second one went off. By this point they were traversing Ferengi space at low warp, and nothing happened while he slept. Julian started the instructional Cardassi program Garak brought from DS9 (he really had thought of everything), but eventually abandoned it to ruminate.

Would this be his life forever? Running and hiding, always looking over his shoulder, until the day he died? It was a horrifying prospect.

He didn’t believe Captain Sisko or Jadzia would give up so easily on exposing the conspiracy to kill him and any other genetically enhanced members of Starfleet. If they did manage to remove the threat to his life, Julian wouldn’t hesitate to turn himself in, accept his sentence, and hope he might someday be that counterexample to the stereotypes of the dangerous Augment.

Garak didn’t think it likely, and while he was an unrepentant pessimist, it had to be admitted that he knew far more about covert operations than Julian.

Furthermore, if Section 31 was willing to kill, they wouldn’t hesitate to add Jadzia or Sisko to the list for getting too close to the truth, which worried Julian greatly. He hoped Miles, at least, would have the good sense to keep his head down. Julian didn’t want Molly and Yoshi to grow up fatherless on his account.

He was staring glumly out the viewscreen when Garak returned to the bridge. The ship wasn’t large by any measure, but still half again as spacious as a runabout, and therefore offered some measure of privacy. Only some, on account of the shared living quarters. At least there were two beds.

“How do you bear it, having people who want to kill you?” asked Julian.

“I consider it proof that I have accomplishments to my credit.”

“I don’t think that will work for me.”

“Then you bear it because you must,” said Garak. Never one for offering comfort, he changed the subject. “It’s your turn to sleep now.”

“Are we going to take shifts forever?”

“No. For the next several days, at which point I will reassess the need.”

Julian suspected Garak needed at least another hour of sleep but didn’t feel like a futile argument on the topic. He just said, “Don’t hesitate to wake me up,” and trudged back to the living quarters.

He should have been tired. Sleep didn’t come, and his thoughts drove him back out to the bridge.

Garak muted the music he’d been playing at low volume. “That was a very brief rest.”

“I can’t sleep,” said Julian, settling into the co-pilot’s chair. “Too much on my mind.”

“How did you find your introduction to the Cardassi language?” asked Garak, in what was probably an attempt to avoid any topic of conversation where he might be expected to offer emotional reassurances.

“Fine. I learned the alphabet, though the computer didn’t think much of my accent.”

“This is why languages should be learned young. I was fluent in Federation Standard, Klingon, Romulan, and ecclesiastical Bajoran by my twelfth birthday.”

Julian didn’t think anyone should model their childrearing practices on Tain’s. They hadn’t talked about Tain’s death or the revelation that he was Garak’s father, but Garak’s grief had to be fresh, so he declined to voice his opinion. “I learned other languages young, but I don’t think Arabic or French are going to help me very much out here.”

“Humans are oddly passionate about maintaining dialects they no longer use.”

“Firstly, we don’t call them dialects.”

Garak merely raised an eyeridge. “From my perspective, they’re all dialects of Terran. Cardassi has no such differences, of course. We got rid of them generations ago for efficiency’s sake.”

“Of course you did. In any event, the London educational system was not concerned with preparing us for lives as outlaws beyond Federation space. However, I can’t help noticing that I don’t need to speak or understand verbal Cardassi to operate the ship. Reading comprehension would be sufficient.”

“Since when have you done anything in partial measure?”

“I suspect you just want the pleasure of telling me how badly I’m mispronouncing words,” said Julian.

“I won’t have to if you improve your accent,” replied Garak, as though it was a trifling matter. “Besides, don’t you want something to occupy yourself?”

He had a plan for that, and it didn’t involve worrying about the precise inflections demanded by Cardassi grammar. “I want to acquire a research computer and programs, as well as more extensive medical equipment. You said we’ll be staying in the ship for a while, so I might as well put the time to good use.”

“You won’t be able to publish papers.”

“Give me some credit, Garak. I know that. I’m going back to my research into freeing the Jem’Hadar from their dependency on ketracel white.” If he could crack that, he’d get the information to DS9 somehow. It might make a difference in the upcoming war.

“I’m not familiar with the cost of medical technology, but I doubt Dax’s latinum will be enough, and you really should keep it in case of emergency. Perhaps you can hire your services at ports of call.”

Julian knew this was Ferengi territory, where everything came with a price tag. He still found the idea appalling. “Charge for medical attention?”

“It’s that or find a way to cheat at gambling.”

“I’m not sure which is worse.”

Suddenly, the intricacies of Cardassi vocabulary were an appealing escape from reality.

* * *

 

“I’ve chosen a name for the ship,” Garak said, when Bashir joined him on the bridge again. Despite having ostensibly slept, the doctor did not look very rested. Human bodies communicated the condition easily, another one of their many vulnerabilities.

“Oh? What?”

“ _Nistana_.”

Bashir paused with a mug of red leaf tea halfway to his mouth. “Tell me you didn’t name the ship after a riding hound in _The Never Ending Sacrifice_.”

Interesting. In the past, he would’ve remarked that the name was vaguely familiar and announced his intention to look it up, then waited until their next meeting to express any disagreement. That was obviously a tactic to hide his exceptional (by human standards) memory. Bashir was not, on the whole, a talented dissembler – his face was too expressive by far – and yet in this one area he’d done quite well. Garak, embarrassingly, hadn’t suspected anything more serious than an unconfessed raktajino habit.

“If you insist,” he said, “but I fear it would be an unconvincing lie.”

“A riding hound from your favorite book. Somehow that’s both unbelievable and unsurprising.”

“I never said _The Never Ending Sacrifice_ is my favorite book.” It was in some respects. Not all. When being truthful, Garak couldn’t have named only one favorite book if he wanted to, so it was just as well he didn’t have such a desire.

“You told me it’s the finest Cardassian novel ever written,” said Bashir. What he would think to christen the ship, Garak could scarcely imagine. Sadly, a tribute to one of the many dreadful Shakespeare characters would likely be the better of his ideas. “And you’ve just named the ship after a loyal riding hound from it. If you claim a different book is your favorite, I’m going to have a difficult time believing you.”

“Believe what you like. Nistana was a noble animal who served her masters faithfully. It’s an excellent name.”

“That’s not the real problem,” said Bashir. “If there’s one thing you’ve always been honest about, it’s that your priorities are Cardassia and yourself. You think trust is naïve nine times out of ten, say anyone who puts faith in someone else is asking to be betrayed, and have made clear you shouldn’t be trusted.”

“Nine times out of ten is a low estimate.”

“That’s not the point, Garak. Now you’ve upended your whole life and taken on quite a bit of danger to save me, and implicit in your offer to protect me is the requirement that I trust you to look out for my best interest.”

Garak had not thought of it in precisely those terms, but the doctor had a raised a valid fear, though he picked a strange time to start putting Garak’s lessons into practice. Unless he’d been hiding that earlier as well, which was an intriguing possibility but not a likely one.

“If I can’t trust you, I’d rather you drop me off at the nearest system where I have a chance and leave me to my own devices.”

It was, Garak decided with some regret, not an opportune moment to share how strongly he detested ultimatums. Not least because Bashir was more or less correct. “You realize you are trusting me to be truthful in my answer,” he pointed out.

“You care enough that you don’t want me dead, and do I have any other choice? Still, last year you were willing to let five people die to save your own life, which wasn’t even in extreme danger at the moment.”

Surely Bashir realized the crucial difference that he had not been among the individuals whose lives Garak deemed of lesser importance. In fact, considering his intention to challenge the parameters of the holoprogram, his own death had been more likely than Garak’s during the incident in question, a fact upon which Garak preferred not to dwell and one that had clearly not occurred to Bashir.

“We obviously have different definitions of bodily risk,” said Garak.

“So it would seem. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but how do I know you won’t do the same thing if Section 31 gets too close?”

How quintessentially Bashir to worry that his well-reasoned concerns would offend Garak. No, his optimism and naivety hadn’t been an act at all, just as Garak suspected. “Really, Doctor, there’s no need to apologize for being sensible.”

“There is a need for you to address this topic.”

“Yes, I suppose there is,” conceded Garak. “I am not in the habit of committing myself to courses of action without considering possible consequences.”

The one time he’d tried it, he ended up exiled, so it wasn’t a mistake he intended to repeat. Garak knew perfectly well the risks of rescuing the doctor and keeping him safe, and had decided the rewards were more compelling. Bashir was alive. Garak had a purpose to which he could devote himself. Both of these were well worth the danger, which he therefore embraced as an old friend that kept him alert, and if Bashir didn’t understand Garak’s motivations, well, he didn’t really have to.

He did have to know Garak wasn’t about to abandon him at the next sign of trouble. Otherwise he would insist on leaving, not without reason, and would be liable to end up dead within the month. No, that wouldn’t do at all.

Therefore Garak explained, “The fact of the matter is quite simple: if I wasn’t willing to endanger myself for your sake, I would be making Quark a shirt and you would be dead.”

This was as much proof as anyone could expect, and Bashir considered it for a moment. “Alright,” he said at last. “Actions speak louder than words, yours more than most.”

He ought to have realized it on his own, but considering recent events, this new caution in regards to being overly generous with his trust was both understandable and wise.

For his part, Garak was in a very different kind of unfamiliar territory. Enemies seeking his death were nothing new; he’d been successfully thwarting any number of them his entire adult life. Actively earning himself more enemies for a cause other than Cardassia was a change, which led to the inevitable conclusion that he was more attached to Bashir than wisdom would allow.

Sentiment always had been his greatest weakness.

Aside from Tain and his mother, Garak had never found himself in a situation where he found the idea of betraying someone to their death in order to save his own life to be troublesome. It was not an entirely welcome feeling, but here he was nevertheless.

Bashir was, for the moment at least, as satisfied on the point as he expected possible. “I’ll have breakfast, and then we can start in on my morning Cardassi lesson.”

“Perhaps you’ll stop expressing extreme skepticism with your inflections today.”

“It’s my natural accent.”

“One which makes you come across as very rude.” It was rather amusing, really, though Garak was careful not to let on.

Bashir shook his head and went to the replicator.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The more I think about it, the more it annoys me that the writers equated intelligence with being good at math. You can be very, very smart and no good at mental calculations. I therefore wanted to explore another possibility here.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter went from "Hmm, maybe I should write this as a gen friendship tale" to "Oh, now they have to get naked." So I present to you that rare creature, an AuroraNova sex scene. I hope it doesn't bother anyone who started reading expecting a T-rated fic. (If explicit isn't your cup of tea, you can stop reading after Garak sets proximity alarms.)

Julian was going a little stir-crazy.

Garak insisted on a minimum of two weeks before he’d let Julian leave the _Nistana_ , though he imposed no such restriction on himself and had been off at three different stations now to gather information. He was concerned about their joint appearance tipping off pursuers, and when Julian suggested Garak could stay in the ship for a station and give him a turn, he didn’t get to finish the sentence before it was shot down.

“I’m afraid I still have much to teach you before that is a good idea,” Garak said, and his concern for Julian’s safety appeared genuine. His actions further suggested this desire to keep Julian from harm was real, and that was one of Julian’s few solaces at the moment.

Lacking enough medical equipment for more than the most basic tasks, he kept busy in any way he could. He recorded everything from prior ketracel white research, not because he was in danger of forgetting, but so it could easily be fed into a medical computer when he acquired one. Along the way he considered new avenues of research, none of which were terribly promising.

He worked on Garak’s language program. His spoken Cardassi left much to be desired, with an accent Garak consistently proclaimed the worst he’d ever heard, but his reading comprehension was improving by leaps and bounds, and his ear for the language was improving at a more moderate pace.

There were self-defense lessons aplenty. Those left Julian with more aching muscles than he’d ever experienced in his life. Garak was a harsh taskmaster, unsurprisingly, but moreover, he always pushed the boundaries of what Julian could do. It wasn’t enough to be stronger than a human his build ought to be, he needed to break out of headlocks – and Garak’s natural Cardassian strength was more than Julian’s. Training Garak-style also involved being timed on how fast he could draw a hidden knife strapped to his ankle and throw it dead-on, and, for good measure, learning to catch a knife thrown to him.

Finally, when he was exhausted from the physical exertion, he had aliases to create. Garak was very good at forging identity documents, but he balked at making every one a doctor, so Julian had to get creative. He felt sure this was one of Garak’s favorite pastimes.

“Yes,” said Garak, “the contacts are quite convincing. You have the Betazoid eyes now, without a doubt.”

Julian preferred his human aliases, and that had little to do with the strange eyes looking back from his reflection. Pretending to be another species felt like taking away part of who he was, and he’d already had enough taken from him.

“I can’t underestimate what an asset you have, being human. It’s so easy to disguise your species.”

“Not forever, I hope,” said Julian.

“I’m well aware of your distaste for it, Doctor, but for the time being it’s much safer this way. Now, you are a half-human, half-Betazoid named Elro Armand. What’s your occupation?”

“Sociologist.”

Garak gave him a look of surprise. “Travelling through the Ferengi Alliance with a Cardassian?”

“I’m studying interspecies commercial relationships.”

He’d taken an interspecies sociology class at the Academy and figured he knew enough of the basics to fool the general population. (As it turned out, a near-perfect recall had a great many uses of which he’d never dreamed.) If he met a real sociologist, he’d play student and ask them to do the talking.

“Where are you from?”

“Suara V. A Betazoid colony with a significant human minority,” he explained for Garak’s benefit.

“That covers the basics. Now you must identify a few key characteristics of this persona.” Oh yes, Garak was enjoying himself immensely. “Who is Elro Armand?” he asked, warming to his subject. “What motivates him? If others were asked to describe him with three adjectives, what would they choose?”

Julian reminded himself he was fortunate to be learning from a master.

* * *

 

Considering Bashir’s broad imagination, it came as no surprise that he was good at inventing cover identities for himself. With proper guidance, he did well at giving the aliases backgrounds, though he’d need to watch out for his tendency to provide too many details. That was often the hallmark of a lie, natural as it may be for him.

After observing for the better part of two weeks, Garak came to the obvious and expected conclusion: while Bashir had out of necessity hidden many abilities, he’d never embraced a false persona. Which was just as well, since Garak would prefer to be risking his life for a person who truly existed.

He chose not to dwell on the how the reverse might apply. Besides, there were entirely fabricated personalities, and there were facets of one’s true self one might choose to feature, the latter being what he’d presented to the doctor. And he suspected Bashir had over the years pieced together a fairly accurate picture of the real Elim Garak anyway. If nothing else, the final conversation with Tain must have been enlightening.

Once they’d worked out the half-Betazoid and two human aliases, Garak considered further options. “I don’t imagine you can alter your own ears,” he said. “You could make a respectable Romulan, with tapered ears and the forehead.”

“No, I can’t. You could paint Trill spots on me.”

“It’s a possibility. Can you make Bajoran nose ridges?”

Bashir considered the idea. “Yes, but I’d need another medical device, and I’m not sure how we’d pass off a Bajoran travelling with a Cardassian.”

“A forbidden romance?” People would accept the most outrageous things done for love.

“No one would believe that.”

“Despite that the Bajorans would have us think, it’s not unknown.”

Garak had already considered this thoroughly and thought it had vast potential. The doctor’s discomfort suggested he was about to reject the idea out of hand, probably with some trite comment meant to soften the blow when he realized his refusal could be taken personally.

“It’s not that.” Bashir’s eyes shifted uncomfortably, telegraphing his reluctance to continue. Garak half expected a conversational pivot before the doctor said, “You’ve stopped flirting with me.”

His sense of timing continued to be very peculiar. He’d never, in four and a half years, so much as hinted that he realized the nature of Garak’s behavior towards him. Now, when they were fleeing for their lives, he saw fit to mention it.

“You’re more observant than you let on,” said Garak in lieu of an answer. This was one of the rare and discomfiting circumstances where he didn’t know how to respond, so he fell back on the old maxim: when in doubt, stall to gather more information.

“Not exactly. Miles told me Cardassians flirt by arguing.”

“The chief knows about the intricacies of Cardassian interpersonal relationships? I find that unlikely.” Though it would explain some of the looks he’d given Garak.

“Gilora Rejal thought he considered her a potential wife because they fought.”

“I see,” said Garak. Bashir had known for two years and said nothing. Well, his ability to conceal his knowledge was commendable, at least.

“It’s fine.”

That was an exceptionally unconvincing lie, which raised intriguing possibilities.

“I know what I am, Garak, and I’m perfectly aware it doesn’t make me desirable. Let’s just come up with other reasons we’re travelling together.”

What a valuable insight regarding Bashir’s mindset. Had he always felt this would be the case if his enhancements were known, Garak wondered, or was it a more recent development in light of the attempt to kill him?

The sensible course of action would be to let Bashir think his genes were indeed the problem and drop the matter. Then again, Garak had stopped being sensible when he left what remained of his life to rescue the man, and allowing the doctor to hear the secret of his paternity hadn’t been especially reasonable, either. There was also the matter of breaking into a holosuite when he felt Bashir had lost interest in his company. No, to himself if no one else, Garak had to admit that where Julian Bashir was concerned, he’d abandoned strict practicality some time ago.

Because he was irrefutably attached to the man, Garak found it somewhat distressing to let Bashir imagine he wasn’t desirable over such a minor detail as genetic engineering. Which was in itself worrisome, indicating as it did a hopeless level of emotional entanglement.

Tain certainly would’ve ended the conversation there. Well, he was disinclined to save anyone at the possible expense of his own life, but that wasn’t the point under consideration. He would have ruthlessly repressed any concern for Bashir’s feelings (if he was capable of such care in the first place, which was debatable) and that was perhaps an excellent reason for Garak to do the opposite. Tain had died a spiteful and unpleasant man, pathologically unable to acknowledge his own son in anything but the most opaque terms. Despite what Garak had thought for decades, his father was not a model to which one might aspire.

Still, the subject of his own attraction to the doctor required delicacy. “Is that what your Federation teaches you?” he asked. “That you hold no appeal because you weren’t born with your present genes?”

“No, it teaches that I’m a freak and quite possibly a monster. The lack of desirability follows naturally.”

Garak blinked. He didn’t even attempt to hide this natural Cardassian response to confusion. “In that case, I don’t see why you’ve always been so committed to your idealized conception of the Federation.”

“Because I had to be,” replied Bashir. “I needed to believe the Federation was otherwise morally upstanding to outweigh its attitude toward me. At the subconscious level, I mean.” He shrugged. “I’ve had a lot of time to think lately.”

Fascinating. Garak would have to give this idea more consideration, as it applied to both Bashir and, in broad strokes, his own paternal relationship. Returning to the matter at hand, he said, “Surely you have realized I do not share these ridiculous views about you.”

“As a friend, yes, that’s obvious.”

Bashir seemed sorry, although he’d never before expressed… of course. He would’ve known that if anyone would be able to figure out his secret, it was Garak. It all made perfect sense.

On the strength of this, Garak said, “I never had any cause to believe you were interested, and it seemed pointless to continue. I am not, as you know, overly fond of hopeless causes.” The last line wasn’t entirely true. His own return to Cardassia could fairly be described as such, but that hadn’t stopped him over the past five years.

“Lack of interest wasn’t the problem. Hell, even Leeta knew by the end.”

“I hope that didn’t contribute to the end of your relationship.” Actually, he didn’t, but one often got more information from comments than direct questions.

“No. The longer we were together, the more obvious it became that I would only let her so close and no further, and she realized she deserved better. Frankly, we should’ve ended it sooner, but it was comfortable.”

“And by no further, you mean you were afraid to reveal the truth about your genetics.”

“Yes. Which brings me to you. I knew if there was one person on the station who could figure me out, it was you. One slip up, one time in bed where I was just a little too strong, and you wouldn’t buy my excuse.”

Garak had already worked that out for himself. “And yet you continued to meet with me for lunch.”

“I enjoyed myself too much to stop.” Flattering. Perhaps Bashir, too, was more attached than he knew was wise. “I just kept you at a different kind of distance.”

“As I’ve said, there is hope for you after all. Not for your taste in literature, of which I despair.”

Bashir looked at him, all that naked optimism on display after the last, gently flirtatious remark. “So it wasn’t just a game for you?”

“It’s always a game.”

This earned him a hint of smile. “In that case, whose move is it?”

“Yours,” said Garak.

Bashir stepped closer, but still hesitated. “I don’t want to ruin everything.”

Ah. He wasn’t considering a single sexual encounter, then. Good. Neither was Garak. And yes, perhaps this was reckless, but if they’d both been thinking of it for years, no one could say they hadn’t given the idea plenty of thought. He knew Bashir was rash, headstrong, and tended to arrogance. In turn, Bashir knew Garak’s flaws, of which he was aware there were many. If neither of them considered these overly problematic, there was nothing and no one to stop them now.

In short, an intimate relationship, which probably wouldn’t have worked on the station beyond a handful of physical encounters, could be successful now. Not that Garak had any personal knowledge of how to conduct such a relationship. His infrequent affairs thus far in life had always been purely sexual.

“That presumes I would allow you to ruin everything. You ought to know me better than that, Doctor.” Garak infused the words with just the right amount of invitation to elicit a smile, and then Bashir made his move.

He stepped into Garak’s space and kissed him.

Garak had never seen the appeal of kissing before – he preferred to have his mouth free for talking – but this preliminary demonstration suggested the practice wasn’t entirely without merit. He’d need repetition to be sure.

“Julian,” said Bashir when he pulled back. “My name is Julian.”

He’d chosen well.

This was a surprising but welcome development in Garak’s personal life. In his experience, surprises were rarely good. Most of them were downright dangerous. Those involving Julian Bashir were a notable exception, and in fact, his capacity to provide unexpected delights was alluring.

Bashir – Julian – had advanced the game. Garak would meet this, just as soon as he set some additional proximity alarms. He had a feeling they were both going to be distracted in the near future, and it would be humiliating to be caught unawares because he was busy exploring his new lover’s body.

* * *

 

Julian hadn’t known how much he needed this until he had it. Simply feeling desirable again was a balm to his wounds, a way of feeling he was truly seen as a person as opposed to a successful, yet possibly volatile, science experiment.

Maybe the cessation of Garak’s flirting had bothered him more than he’d admitted to himself.

By human standards, a thorough critique of his clothing was an odd way to express attraction, but Julian thought he knew where this was going and it was a destination of which he approved, so he played his part. None of Garak’s previous sartorial disapproval had been this blunt. Nor, for that matter, had they ever involved so much touching.

“…and the shirt is no better. The cut does you no favors with these lines drawing attention away from your neck.” Garak traced the collar in question while shaking his head in convincing disapproval.

“My options were limited, and it’s a very comfortable shirt.”

“It could be comfortable in a more flattering color,” said Garak, smoothing his palms down Julian’s shoulders.

“I like turquoise. It’s more cheerful than that drab brown you’re wearing.”

The glint in Garak’s eye told him the returned barb was welcome. “Drab? Now I have cause to doubt your vision is as good in this light as you claim. I’m wearing a sophisticated shade.”

“If by sophisticated you mean boring.”

“No, these clothes won’t do. I’ll simply have to remove them,” said Garak.

Julian had been right. This was going to end the way he wanted. “Don’t think I’m going to make it easy and do it for you. You’re the one who hates my clothes, so you can take them off.” With that, he spun around and headed for the living quarters.

For his first time flirting Cardassian style, he thought he was holding his own.

Within two minutes, they were both naked on one of the beds. Smaller beds meant they had to be close. No complaints there from Julian.

“Yes, this is much better,” said Garak.

“Ah, Garak?”

“Yes?”

“It’s just occurred to me that I have no idea what you might consider foreplay.” He hoped it would involve feeling all the tantalizing textures of Garak’s body.

“We’ve been doing it for years.”

He said that, but unless he’d neglected to mention something crucial, they weren’t about to jump into the main event. Julian had no personal experience of a sexual partner with retractable genitals; still, it seemed to him the organ in question had yet to make its appearance.

There was nothing for it but to explore. Again, the furthest thing from a hardship.

Garak peered down with interest. “So that’s what it looks like when you carry your genitals on the outside. Impractical, but not without visual appeal.”

“You’ve never seen one? I’ll spare you the line about how mine is above average.”

“I wouldn’t doubt the assertion.”

“Flatterer. Come here. I’ve heard Cardassian neck ridges are sensitive and I want to test the theory.”

“The things I do for your love of science,” said Garak. He wasted no time presenting himself for the treatment all the same.

“Yes, you’re suffering so. The flushing must be a sign of your distress.” Not to mention the way his pupils dilated when Julian stroked upwards.

“Something like that.”

“Harder? Softer?” In this case, Julian thought he might even get a direct answer.

“Harder. Much harder.”

Garak was meanwhile caressing different spots on Julian’s body, starting with his neck, never staying in one place for long. In short order he paused with his hand over Julian’s sac. “Is there anything I should know regarding this?”

“Be gentle.”

It was a change of pace to see Garak tentative. He palmed the balls carefully, testing their response to different touches.

Julian was, for the first time since his parents set foot on DS9, happy. Whatever else had gone wrong in his life (nearly everything), he had this. He wasn’t just in bed with Garak, he was in bed with Garak who was touching him with such delight, even tenderness, looking out for his pleasure and generally treating Julian as someone long desired. Someone worth not just saving, but maybe even… well, best not to get ahead of himself.

“What do I have to do so you’ll evert?” he asked.

Garak smiled in challenge. “Why don’t you experiment and find out?”

***

Garak may have wondered from time to time, in the privacy of his own head, how Bashir’s -( _Julian, Elim, he’s invited you to use his given name and this time he knows the intimacy it signifies to you_ ) how Julian’s irrepressible enthusiasm might express during sex. The answer, thus far, was charmingly and with much promise for Garak’s pleasure.

Having gotten good results from his ministrations on Garak’s neck and shoulder ridges, Julian applied the same pressure with his fingertips around the ridges of Garak’s genital sheath. “Oh, you like that,” he said, delighted with himself and the discovery.

Garak certainly did. “What gave me away?”

“These ridges are starting to flush like the others.”

There was no question that Julian was also enjoying himself. Human men left very little to the imagination when it came to arousal, though how the light touches on his testicles were enough to stimulate, Garak didn’t know. External reproductive organs were vulnerable, but there was something satisfying about watching and feeling Julian’s penis grow.

“And you, my dear?”

“You can give up on my nipples. They’re barely more sensitive than the rest of my chest.”

A pity. Cardassian men didn’t have these vestigial parts; they were on women only, where they might serve a purpose. Garak found Julian’s rather fascinating. Still, a cue was a cue, so he resumed his exploration of Julian’s body.

“Mmm. Do that again.”

Garak obligingly ran his fingertips down Julian’s spine and earned an appealing moan of pleasure. There was a great deal of potential in the spot.

As a matter of personal preference, Garak liked to delay eversion. Not as long as physically possible, perhaps, but longer than he might have without some willpower. It made the process that much more enjoyable when it finally happened. However, it had been years since he’d everted for anyone but himself, so he feared it might occur more quickly this time. He could already feel the pressure beginning to build.

“I can’t wait to see you evert,” said Julian. “Then I can suck you off.”

Oh. _Oh_. Rumors of humans’ widespread use of the mouth as a sexual organ might not have been overstated after all. How positively delightful.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? I’m fairly certain that’s what the rush of blood here was.”

“That is… not commonly done on Cardassia.”

“Oral sex? Really? But it’s so much fun!”

Garak counted himself extremely fortunate. No respectable Cardassian – very few self-respecting members of his species, for that matter – would voluntarily perform the act. “It is somewhat transgressive.”

“If you’d rather I didn’t…”

“Oh, no.”

“I see. Transgressive, but in an exciting way.”

“More or less.” The more came in terms of receiving such a thing, and the less in giving. Though Garak was willing to consider returning the favor. His tastes were not perfectly aligned with acceptable standards of Cardassian sexual practices.

As Garak’s slit softened, Julian began to press his fingers inside. “Yes?”

“Yes. Harder.”

It didn’t take much longer for Garak to give up on waiting. It was hasty by his usual standards, but he decided there was no point in delaying simply for the sake of his pride, and he allowed his muscles to push his penis out in one smooth motion.

Julian grinned. “Hello, there.” He then proceeded to trace the entire surface with both hands. “Yes, I can work with this.”

“I should hope so,” said Garak.

When a Cardassian, male or female, put a penis in their mouth, they would never make eye contact because of the shame. Julian did so with delight, watching for Garak’s reaction. It seemed polite to reward him with a sensual smile.

At some point, he surrendered to the overwhelming sensations Julian created. It was all so _good_. Others could insist that the pleasure from oral sex came as a result of feeling powerful; Garak begged to differ. A partner who was happily enjoying the act was infinitely better.

***

Julian had no reference to gauge when Garak was close to orgasm, but he suspected the low hisses were a sign they were moving in that direction. He stopped sucking on Garak’s cock to say, “You can come in my mouth, if you like.”

“Since you’ve offered.”

“A warning would be appreciated,” he added, then went back to it. Garak was a whole different shape than he was used to, with a smaller head which could correspondingly slide further back in his throat than Julian would’ve otherwise found comfortable. Fortunately, he had no penile ridges to get in the way (which had been a minor concern).

After another minute or two, Garak said, “Julian. Consider this your warning,” and soon thereafter came with a deep hum. Julian barely tasted a thing, which was fine by him, as the flavor of ejaculate was not his favorite part of sex.

When he felt Garak’s cock start to recede, he pulled off, and it slowly returned to its place inside the sheathe.

“And now it’s your turn,” said Garak.

No post-orgasm lack of energy, then.

Julian wanted to make this last a bit longer. “Don’t rush, please.”

“In that case, roll over.”

He happily complied, and Garak went to work slowing tracing a finger up and down his spine. “It’s even better if you use your tongue,” Julian suggested, in case the obvious hadn’t occurred to Garak.

Cardassian tongues had rougher taste buds, creating a new and unusual texture on Julian’s skin which he immediately decided he liked. Still, that was only sufficient for so long. He needed some contact elsewhere, so he warned Garak to back off for a minute and got on his hands and knees.

“Is this a hint?”

“No, it’s a request.” He grabbed Garak’s right hand and guided it to his crotch. “There, please.”

Garak resumed his earlier caressing of Julian’s balls while neatly avoiding his cock altogether. It figured he’d be a terrible tease.

This was good all the same, particularly when Garak discovered the spot on the back of Julian’s neck which never failed to make him shiver. “Mmm, yes, that’s perfect,” said Julian as Garak flicked his tongue around it in circles.

When two minutes later Garak hadn’t touched his erection, Julian finally said, “One of our hands is going on my cock. I’d prefer yours, but I’ll settle for my own.”

“You told me not to rush.”

“I meant not to rush to orgasm, and I’m reconsidering that anyway.”

“Always so impatient,” Garak quibbled, but he finally, finally put his hand where Julian wanted it.

“Says the man who’s already come. You can use a slightly firmer grip. Yes, that’s good.”

They were going to have so much fun learning each other’s preferences in bed.

***

Garak had known from the beginning that Julian was an attractive man, but seeing him like this was something else entirely. He was so unrestrained, so hedonistic, so mesmerizing.

By this point he’d produced enough pheromones that Garak could smell them, and for a Cardassian Garak did not have outstanding olfactory powers. (Though, compared to most species excepting female Vulcans, he was still far more sensitive.) It therefore came as no great surprise when Julian groaned and spilled all over Garak’s hand. “Don’t stop,” he said, barely audible, so Garak continued until he amended, “You can stop now.”

Then he promptly collapsed on the bed, landing in what looked like an awkward position, and didn’t move a muscle.

“Should I be concerned?” asked Garak.

“No. Lack of energy after orgasm is normal for human men.”

It seemed like an evolutionary disadvantage, and a terrible vulnerability besides. Garak was grateful his species wasn’t so afflicted.

“There is something I need to make clear,” he said.

“I’m listening.”

“I don’t know your preferences regarding penetrative intercourse…”

“Give me a few minutes and we can get to it.”

“I didn’t mean now.”

“Right.” Julian looked Garak’s way lazily through half-closed eyes. “I like most kinds of sex, that included.”

“I will not be taken from behind. Ever.”

This intrigued Julian enough that his eyes opened. Or perhaps he was simply recovering from his temporary exhaustion. “Is that a matter of biology, culture, or personal preference?”

Under no circumstances was Garak going to explain himself. “Does it matter?”

“I suppose not.” Julian yawned. “That’s fine. We have plenty of other positions to choose from.”

How many sexual positions did humans have? Garak had heard they could be quite creative with sex, so now he was curious. And intrigued.

“Though I’d like it if you have me that way from time to time.”

“I’m sure I can oblige.”

“So, am I allowed to call you Elim now?”

“It’s quite presumptuous in Cardassian culture to ask for permission. You’re supposed to wait until it’s been granted.”

“I’m not Cardassian.”

“I’ve noticed. You may call me by whatever first name I’m using at the time, including Elim, in private.”

Julian positively beamed.

Garak, feeling more content than he had in many years, was in no rush to leave the bed. This was a very different kind of sexual experience for him, and not just because it was his first in years on account of not trusting that any lover might plan to kill him while he was distracted. As a younger man he’d enjoyed his share of liaisons. Those encounters were always over as soon as both parties reached orgasm; he’d never allowed himself anything else. Or rather, Tain had strongly suggested any attachment was to be avoided, and Garak wanted to please.

He had denied himself much, hoping to prove he was worthy of his father’s attention. It was a futile quest, he now knew, and there was no use denying himself Julian in an attempt to achieve impossible standards set by a dead man. So yes, he would enjoy this post-coital time.

Not for overly long, though. Julian needed to learn how to hack a transporter.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ConceptaDecency and zaan inspired this chapter with their remarks about G/B adventure stories being uncommon.

Julian’s chin itched.

Very few Cardassians naturally grew facial hair, so the replicator had only one option for its removal, and the process was going miserably. Julian hadn’t shaved with a blade a day in his life. To make matters worse, the razor was designed to exfoliate thick Cardassian skin. For them, this made future shaves easier (or so Elim thought), but it removed too much of Julian’s epidermis and was liable to draw blood in the process.

After cutting himself _again_ and running the dermal regenerator over his jaw bone _again_ , he’d had enough. Therefore, he was growing a beard.

A very itchy beard.

“Are you going to be scratching your face forever?” asked Elim.

He considered facial hair another way human biology made disguising oneself easy, and was in favor of anything which might make Julian less recognizable. In fact, he wished he had thought of the beard earlier. Thick Cardassian skin came in handy for him in that the stubble didn’t bother him when kissing. Julian had started to grow a beard several years ago on a whim, and when he’d transported to France for the weekend, Palis had kissed him once and refused a repeat until he’d depilated.

“From what I’ve heard, it’ll stop itching in a week, give or take.” Though at the moment, he was seriously debating if a quick daily dermal regeneration wasn’t a fair trade after all.

“Unfortunate.”

“Trust me, I know.”

“Meanwhile, there’s something else to be done before we leave the ship.”

It was getting to be quite a long list. “What?” asked Julian.

“As you saw, this vessel was intended to be used by anyone in need.”

“Anyone with Obsidian Order access codes, you mean.”

Elim ignored that. “Of necessity, it couldn’t be locked to specific operators. Before we leave it empty, we must see to locking out all others. It’s imperative that only you and I can control the _Nistana_.”

Reasonable. “What do you need me to do?”             

“Decide on your authorization codes. One verbal, one written. Not the same code, and they each should be at least seven characters. You need not use Cardassi for the verbal code.” Switching to his own language, he ordered the computer to begin command code creation, user Garak. Or so Julian thought; he missed a word or two in there.

What did not escape him was how Elim used the exact same words to set up Julian’s access. When prompted, he said his code. “Bashir theta nine sigma sigma twelve four omicron.”

“No. That is too Starfleet.”

Did Elim even realize how much the comment hurt? Julian had spent his entire adult life in Starfleet - at the Academy, through medical school, and DS9. He hadn’t begun to figure out who he was without Starfleet, and all things considered, it added up to mattering more than a simple authorization code ought to have.

He was silent long enough that Elim explained himself. “You don’t want a code anyone might easily guess, if they figure out who you are. What you chose is exactly the kind of sequence your pursuers would try first. A simple device transported in the ship speaking in your voice – not difficult, as Section 31 can access your medical logs – and they could gain control of the ship.”

“If they’ve found the ship, we’re already in trouble.”

“Yes, of course, but that’s no reason to make it easier for them.”

Julian once again reluctantly saw Elim’s logic. “I’m not even going to bother asking how you know Starfleet uses the Greek alphabet.”

“It’s common knowledge. Try to be more creative. Use different sounds than might be common in your logs.”

At Elim’s nod, he tried again. “Bashir iota eight dal jim kha nine veh four.” He figured letters from three different alphabets ought to do it.

“Much better. Now enter the written code.”

Julian selected a string of Cardassi characters which satisfied Elim. That done, he said, “You gave me an equal level command clearance.”

“Of course. If I should suffer an untimely demise, it wouldn’t do for you to have only partial access to the _Nistana_.”

That was undoubtedly true, but from him, it was a hugely significant gesture all the same.

Julian didn’t have Starfleet anymore, and he wasn’t fooling himself into believing he was perfectly fine. Still, his life could’ve been so much worse. For one thing, it could’ve been over. For another, he had Elim, who cared enough to risk everything on Julian’s behalf, enhancements and all. Here was a man who didn’t trust on principle, giving Julian equal control over his ship and sleeping beside him.

It seemed appropriate to express his own affections through starting a very blatant argument about Cardassi grammar, so that was precisely what Julian did, to mutually satisfying results.

* * *

 

After two and a half weeks, Garak conceded he couldn’t hide Julian away in the ship indefinitely, and agreed to a short excursion on the nearest station which didn’t charge docking fees.

Julian wanted to leave the _Nistana_ and cared not at all about the details of how and why. Garak wanted to see if more information could be had, and he was always looking for opportunities to earn some latinum. Mainly because Julian desperately desired advanced medical equipment, but as yet Garak deemed it too risky for him to be seen as a doctor. Earning money therefore fell to Garak. He’d invented a cover identity as a software engineer, which made it easy to take small jobs for which he was vastly overqualified.

It really was telling that Garak troubled himself over medical equipment simply to make Julian happy.

They decided Julian would go as Armand, the half-Betazoid. To that end, Garak reminded, “Remember, you are a sociologist, not a doctor. You cannot go rushing to the aid of anyone you happen to see injured. Whatever you do, don’t break your cover.”

Julian nodded. “You already told me that.”

“The point bears repeating.” Garak was not willing to let Julian die. If preventing his death cost a stranger’s life, well, Garak’s capacity for selfishness ought not to be a surprise.

Between the dark contacts and the beginnings of a beard, Julian’s physical appearance was slightly altered, but not enough for comfort. Garak had thus taken the added precaution of replicating a heavily padded shirt to create the illusion of a less slender torso.

They stepped out onto a station which looked like any other Ferengi outpost, covered in advertisements of all types. Julian’s eyes widened. “So this is unrestrained commercialism.”

“Stop looking like this is the first Ferengi station you’ve set foot on,” Garak warned under his breath. Julian thereafter did a credible job of acting unaffected.

Some fifty meters down, Garak saw a familiar face and immediately stopped. He grabbed Julian’s elbow and whispered, “Note the Sazvalian standing next to the oversized dabo wheel.”

“Yes, I see her.”

“Good.” At normal volume, he said, “I do believe we’re going the wrong way,” and promptly turned around.

He didn’t think the Sazvalian had spotted them. The species wasn’t noted for its eyesight, in any lighting, so they were probably safe. All the same, he felt better once they were safely aboard the _Nistana._

“Who is she?” asked Julian.

“An information dealer, last I knew.” He would update himself as soon as it could be managed.

“For Section 31?”

“Section 31, the Tal Shiar, the Grand Nagus, anyone who will pay.” The Order had used her services on multiple occasions. She had good information, but it didn’t come cheaply. “She’s moved to a new territory since I last encountered her.”

“We’re not going back, then.”

“Not to this station, no.”

“That was a short excursion.” Julian sighed and started taking off his padded shirt. Garak might have been tempted to remove the rest of his clothing as well (what an enjoyable diversion from confinement sex was!) if more pressing matters hadn’t taken precedence.

He sat at his console and got to work.

“Does she have a name?” asked Julian.

“Many, no doubt. The Order knew her as Kersa Te Ir Mest.”

“What are you doing?”

“She is better than most at protecting her information, but not good enough to keep it from me,” replied Garak.

“You’re hacking her computer.”

“There’s only one Sazvalian ship here. It has a long-term docking arrangement, so it’s safe to assume this station is, if not her current base, important to her business at present. Now if you would kindly allow me to work without distraction, I hope to discover information on Section 31’s pursuit of us.”

Julian got the same dejected look that appeared whenever his status as a wanted man was raised. Concealing emotions was not among his talents.

It took nearly four and a half hours to access Te Ir Mest’s computer. She had commendable security in place, and a lesser infiltrator would’ve been thwarted. Julian spent most of the time with his deck of cards. Garak, noting a pattern, thought this was his chosen activity when particularly anxious about being found by Section 31.

“Ah, here it is.”

Garak had been silent for so long he startled Julian, who promptly knocked over his house of cards and swore under his breath at the mess. “Did you find something?”

“I found a great many things, including a replicator pattern for Terran chicken noodle soup, which I copied in case you’re interested.” Garak had tried the dish once at the Replimat and found it too bland for his tastes, but the _Nistana_ ’s replicator wasn’t programmed for any human foods, to Julian’s regret. He’d mentioned twice how much he missed scones for breakfast, and Garak managed not to smirk because scone was a common Cardassi slang for female breasts. Knowing from personal experience how much familiar food could comfort an exile, Garak had searched Te Ir Mest’s database for any Terran replicator patterns.

Julian’s face brightened at the prospect. “I’m definitely interested.”

“I’ve also discovered that Section 31 is only moderately concerned with you. If they considered your apprehension -”

“You mean death.”

“They’re the same thing. As I was saying, if they considered your apprehension a priority, they’d be offering a larger reward for information concerning us.”

As he’d guessed, Garak had done most of Section 31’s job for them by making Julian appear to be a dangerous man, and one working with an enemy agent, no less. By now, killing Julian wasn’t necessary to achieve their desired result. They’d still be happy enough if they could manage it, of course. No covert operations agency liked a loose end. Garak’s death would be an agreeable bonus if for no other reason than how easily he’d exposed the incompetence of security on Starfleet’s transport ships.

“I’m less of a threat to the ideological foundation of the Federation, then,” said Julian.

“Correct. Though we can’t grow complacent. They are actively seeking information related to our capture, if not at as lucrative a reward as would be offered for other leads.” Very probably, Section 31 was concerned about being exposed to the Federation at large, which would not approve of their methods. “Still, this is good news. They aren’t devoting themselves to finding us at all costs.”

“How many informants like Mest do we have to worry about?”

“The galaxy is full of informants, my dear. Few are on her level, but they’re everywhere. The key is to give them no reason to suspect us in the first place.”

Julian leaned back in his chair and sighed. “I hate this.”

“I know,” said Garak.

* * *

 

Julian moped – there was no other word for it - the rest of the day after his first attempt at emerging into the galaxy again. All recent events considered, he felt entitled to do so, and if he wanted to eat nothing but chicken soup for lunch and dinner, that was also his prerogative.

The following morning he decided to avoid behaviors which invited comparison to sulky teenagers. He got up, and after a quick sonic shower (quick being the only kind he took, as the shower produced an unpleasant squeak outside the range of Cardassian hearing) joined Elim up front.

By human standards, Julian’s seven-hour sleep requirement was on the low end of average. It was nevertheless a full hour longer than Elim got. He claimed a lesser need for sleep ran in his family, though whether that was true Julian couldn’t begin to say. It might’ve been a bald-faced lie, or Tain could’ve found four hours a night sufficient and deemed Elim slothful, or anything in between.

“Good morning,” said Elim. He was apparently done perusing the information he’d stolen from Mest, because he was now playing kotra against the computer.

“Good morning.” Julian looked through his breakfast options and decided on a plate of bite-sized pancakes. “Nehurast,” he ordered.

Nothing appeared in the replicator.

“N’huraast,” corrected Elim.

Julian tried again, and must’ve done a better job on the pronunciation, because the replicator produced his food after only a brief delay. Once he’d gotten fruit and tea to go with it, he sat down to breakfast.

After two mouthfuls, when Elim was looking at him expectantly, he said, “Not bad. A bit tangy, but not overwhelmingly so.”

“N’huraast is traditionally eaten with vismal sauce.”

“Considering my reaction to the raw berries, I’ll pass.” Julian’s throat had itched for hours after that culinary misadventure, an annoyance not helped at all by antihistamine. It was possible the cooked form wouldn’t bother him, but he wasn’t inclined to risk it, and settled for eating his pancakes plain.

Elim still eyed him as though Julian was especially fragile. Julian swallowed his pancake and said, “I’m sorry about yesterday. You’ve taken on enough without me sulking.”

“It wasn’t an overindulgence in kanar, at least.”

“No,” agreed Julian. He had a feeling Elim was relieved at his more agreeable mood. When it came to a proverbial stiff upper lip, the British had nothing on Cardassians. “What’s the plan for today?”

“There isn’t one.”

“No stations nearby we can try visiting?”

“Not without a suspicious increase in our speed. We’ll reach one tomorrow afternoon.”

“Then I think I’ll go back to assessing how to meet my nutritional needs with the food options we have,” said Julian. It was going to take conscious effort, because Cardassians had a different ideal diet range than humans. They were perfectly healthy with levels of vitamin C which were liable to result in scurvy for Julian, so little in fact that the replicator wasn’t even programmed for an ascorbic acid supplement. He was going to have to get creative.

* * *

 

Julian spent the morning looking for meals which would supply him with an acid required for human health, one which was evidently in short supply among Cardassian foodstuffs. The detrimental impacts on his health without this acid were alarming in number and severity, so further replicator patterns would have to be acquired as soon as possible.

For his part, Garak was pleased Julian’s disquieting emotional state of the previous day hadn’t made another appearance. In the face of such anguish Garak hadn’t a clue what to do, and he despised feeling helpless.

“If I eat a kilo of xaszru leaves a day, I’ll get enough ascorbic acid,” said Julian after a considerable period of silence.

Garak looked up from his reading. “Large quantities of xaszru are known to cause digestive distress. Let’s hope that’s not true for your physiology.”

As it turned out, Julian could eat far more of the herb than Garak without ill effects, but he didn’t enjoy the taste and fully a kilogram was an inordinate amount of xaszru. Therefore, the next day, they set off on a mission to get more replicator patterns. Julian had a long list of produce, Terran and otherwise, which would meet his needs in a more convenient and palate-pleasing manner.

In addition to painstakingly painting Julian’s forehead to look Lortarian, Garak dyed his lover’s hair and beard jet black for this particular alias. It was very believable when combined with the ridiculous green eye makeup of which Lortarians were so fond. He then added some distinguished streaks of silver to his own hair. If only it were so easy to disguise his species.

“Add a bright wig and I’d look like a clown obsessed with green,” said Julian.

Garak tried and failed to come up with any meaning for the word. “Clown?”

“Either children’s entertainment or terrifying source of nightmares, depending on the situation.”

The topic held promise for later entertainment (and how delightful it was to now bring their longstanding debates to the natural, sexual conclusion), so Garak decided further discussion of nonsensical human creatures could wait.

Julian’s Lortarian alias was a holonovelist seeking inspiration, which played to his natural curiosity. All things considered, he was convincing despite being short for a member of the race in question. Not impossibly so, or Garak never would’ve suggested the disguise.

Aboard the station, Julian proclaimed it a good afternoon for people-watching, and Garak found a restaurant owner seeking to upgrade his security programs after an unfortunate incident, the details of which weren’t forthcoming but involved someone gaining unauthorized access to his computer programs. For his trouble, Garak earned a respectable amount of latinum plus dinner for himself and Julian.

Thence they commenced a leisurely stroll around the station, or so it appeared to others. Garak was on high alert for any and all potential dangers. Julian focused on fully inhabiting his persona, as instructed, which included taking the characteristic short steps of a Lortarian instead of his usual long-legged stride.

“A replimat,” said Julian.

Not a free one, naturally, since this was a Ferengi station. “Shall we see if the proprietor is willing to sell a pattern or two? I believe a small investment in variety will be worthwhile.”

Julian tilted his head up and to the side, as Lortarians did to signal agreement. He’d studied his body language well. “It’s worth a look.”

Julian searched the available options and found many which pleased him. Far less pleasing was the asking price. Even after considerable negotiating, Garak paid more he felt reasonable for a mere two replicator patterns. He fully intended to help himself to another two once they returned to the _Nistana_.

Still, Julian wouldn’t approve of outright stealing all the patterns. He’d accepted copying Mest’s chicken noodle soup, but she was also a clear and direct threat who wouldn’t have hesitated to sell him out to Section 31, and that undoubtedly mattered for his moral considerations. Garak therefore overpaid and walked away with the data to create Terran strawberries and Denobulan phrol melons whenever they (or rather, Julian) desired.

On their way out, Julian said quietly, “The Ktarian is lying.”

“Oh?”

“He said he just recovered from Relidies Coughing Fever, but Ktarians are physiologically immune. Not even carriers.”

Interesting. “So he’s either not a Ktarian, or suffered from some other ailment.”

Julian almost nodded. Garak didn’t think this alias would be making any more appearances. It took too much conscious effort on Julian’s part, where pretending to be many other species would be easier and free his attention for critical observations.

After a moment of maneuvering, ostensibly so Julian could scratch an itch in the middle of his back, Garak got a good look at the possible Ktarian in question. The man wasn’t familiar to him, but that meant very little.

He took in the scene with his usual practiced eye. If there was one thing to be said in favor of his time on Deep Space Nine aside from Julian’s presence, it was that the place provided ample practice for Garak to maintain his keen observational skills. Having as he did an excellent recall even by high Cardassian standards, it did not take Garak long to arrive at a theory.

“Can Tetnops suffer this ailment?” he asked.

“Yes,” said Julian, as expected.

Garak increased his volume slightly. “I’m much obliged. Come, there’s an excellent gambling establishment this way.” With that, he led Julian away at as quick a pace as would not arouse suspicion.

It was a pity he wouldn’t be getting his latinum’s worth in replicator patterns, after all.

* * *

 

Elim didn’t head directly for the _Nistana_. He instead took a meandering route which involved looking inside a gambling house and buying a small amount of candy from a Lissepian vendor. By the time they returned to their ship nearly thirty minutes had passed.

“What was going on with the Tetnop?” asked Julian.

“He wasn’t there to eat. When he placed his fork down, it was in a slightly different manner after each bite. The same for his drinking glass and napkin. It’s a method of communication used by the First Brotherhood of Tetnop.”

“I’m not familiar with them.”

“Otherwise known as the Tetnopan Syndicate.”

Organized crime. Was there no station in the Ferengi Alliance they could visit without having to flee? “And we took our time getting back so they wouldn’t suspect you were on to them?”

“Precisely. They’re not especially dangerous to bystanders, as a rule, but it’s best not to tangle with them.”

“I’ve heard they don’t like to leave witnesses.”

“No one does,” said Elim. “It’s best to step back and mind one’s own business, and then, out of an abundance of precaution, to leave the area.” He started the engines and requested the docking clamps be released.

“I’m going to wash my face.”

When Julian returned looking like himself again, they were travelling at a leisurely warp 2.5 and Elim didn’t look as concerned.

“I’ve installed the new replicator patterns.”

“Excellent,” said Julian, and promptly ordered himself strawberries. At least they’d succeeded there. He now had two sources of Vitamin C which were much more pleasant than eating a bitter herb by the plateful.

“You did well,” said Elim.

“How so?”

“You maintained your persona, though I think perhaps we’ll stick to species with body language more similar to human, for simplicity’s sake. I’ll admit that, not having the option to easily conceal my race myself, I hadn’t entirely considered how much of your concentration it would require.”

Now there was a rare thing: Elim confessing to having misjudged something. Julian tried not to grin too widely over it. “I don’t mind a challenge, but that wasn’t my favorite kind.”

“Still, you did it, and observed that the putative Ktarian was suspicious.”

“I’m going to learn what I need to,” said Julian. “You’ve already taken on enough. I’ll pull my own weight as much as I can.”

Elim gave him a strange look. “Do you mean to tell me you believe yourself to be a burden?”

“Well, yes.” Julian didn’t see how he could be anything else. One Elim had voluntarily taken on, yes, and even one of whom Elim was quite fond, but a burden nevertheless.

“I will only say this once more. I knew precisely what I was getting into, and if I’d doubted for a moment it was worthwhile, I would not have done it.”

He meant it. Julian knew that. “The two aren’t mutually exclusive, you know. Being worthwhile and a burden.”

“What a strange notion,” said Elim.

“I’m not sure I’ll ever fully understand you.”

“Isn’t that always the way of things? We are not Vulcans, my dear. Just because we’re having sex now doesn’t mean we share each other’s minds. You will always remain as much a mystery to me as I to you.”

“Somehow I doubt that,” said Julian, and tossed over a strawberry, feeling better knowing that for whatever reason, Elim had wholeheartedly embraced his new role as protector.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the curious, Julian used three Arabic letters in his authorization code, plus one French.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I posted the first scene on Tumblr as a deleted scene, whereupon zaan quickly encouraged me to include it, and ConceptaDecency agreed. It then required the addition of the following scene, which sparked the next, and thus much of this chapter comes to you thanks to their feedback.

Garak should have foreseen this.

In his defense, he had no experience with romance of any kind. Still, in retrospect, it ought to have been clear that Julian would insist on expanding honest communication. And in a small ship with nowhere to hide, either.

And to think, the morning had been going so well. Julian was getting better at his self-defense lessons, not least because he’d finally stopped holding himself back by default. That had ended with Garak face-down on the mat, which, again, was a promising sign. He could get away easily – Julian was nowhere near that good – but it was encouraging progress.

Unfortunately, being face-down on the mat brought back an unpleasant memory Garak would have preferred to forget, and Julian, curse Starfleet Medical for teaching its students to recognize such weaknesses, had picked up on the brief tensing Garak hadn’t quite been able to suppress.

Which brought Garak to his lack of hiding places.

Julian slid into the co-pilot’s chair. “I’d say we should talk, but I know you won’t. So, I’ll talk and you listen.”

Garak would not have objected to a crisis which might otherwise occupy them.

“That looked to me like a trauma response. Admittedly, I’m no expert on how those manifest in Cardassians, but I’m confident I’m on to something. Considering your remark about not being taken from behind, I’d venture to guess this might be a sexual trauma.”

“I liked you better when you were oblivious,” snapped Garak.

“Now I know I’m right. You lash out when you’re hurt.”

Not wanting to provide further proof, Garak kept silent.

“I’m not going to make you talk about it if you’d rather not.”

“Good. Let’s resume your Cardassi lessons.”

“I’m not done, Elim.”

Garak tried his best intimidating look, but Julian didn’t back down. Truth be told, if he was the kind of man who shrunk away, Garak would never have grown so fond of him. But this once, he’d have greatly preferred it.

“You don’t have to talk about it. But you do need to tell me what reminds you too much of it. Letting me go on hurting you because you’re too stubborn to admit any weakness isn’t fair to either of us.”

That was it? His entire concern was based around not wanting to cause Garak pain?

“What, were you expecting some kind of victim blaming?” asked Julian.

No, Julian was far too compassionate for that, and it wouldn’t fit with his Federation ideals. He had assumed Julian would reconsider the wisdom of allowing Garak to protect him, if he hadn’t even been able to protect himself. Granted, that was many years ago, and in point of fact he’d accomplished the mission, which was all that mattered. Or so he’d been told at the time, anyway. Julian would undoubtedly disagree.

“Not exactly,” he said.

“Tell me what sets you off. Don’t make me hurt you.”

In the face of Julian’s earnestness, Garak caved. “I already did.”

“Not everything.”

“I don’t know,” admitted Garak.

“How can you not know?”

“It’s simple. I haven’t given people opportunities to find out.”

“Oh,” said Julian, immediately grasping the enormity of the statement. “I see.”

The oddest part of this was undoubtedly that Garak had not one fear over Julian using this information against him. Such a thing was inconceivable.

Julian got up momentarily and returned with rokassa juice. Garak’s nerves were in need of soothing, so he accepted it without chiding Julian for refusing to even taste the beverage.

“We’ll figure this out together, then.” Julian’s tone was gentle. “In the meantime, I am due to practice my Cardassi. I know how much you look forward to correcting my pronunciation.”

How he had ended up with a lover who was this good a person, Garak honestly did not know.

* * *

 

Julian really, desperately wanted to know more about how Cardassians dealt with sexual assault. Unfortunately if unsurprisingly, the ship’s database didn’t have so much as a line of information on the topic. So he did the only thing he could: kept his word not to make Elim talk, and set about demonstrating that whatever Elim didn’t feel safe doing, Julian still found him wildly attractive. This was neither difficult nor a hardship.

“You know,” said Elim, five evenings later and after proving he was a quick study, “I do believe Cardassian society ought to reconsider its stance against the mouth as a sex organ.”

“They’re missing out,” agreed Julian. “Though I thought it was less the receiving which bothers, and more the giving.”

“Hmm, yes, but you make such appealing noises when I’m doing it to you.”

“I’m glad you think so.” Not least because he was terrible at being quiet during sex. “Remind me to make a note in the log.”

“About our sex life? That seems unnecessary.”

“No, about the day you admitted there’s something about which Cardassian society is wrong.”

“I am perfectly capable of critiquing Cardassia, my dear.”

“I never said you weren’t, only that you don’t.” Except Dukat, but that didn’t really count.

“Besides, you don’t need a note to remember the date, do you?” asked Elim.

“No.” He’d finally made sense of the convoluted system Cardassians used for datekeeping, which was the basis for the _Nistana’_ s logs and Elim would defend as perfectly sensible to his last breath, no doubt. Julian thought Federation stardates were easier, which was saying something. “It’s an old phrase.”

“An odd one.”

“You think most human idioms are odd.”

“Because they are,” replied Elim matter-of-factly. “Why did you throw my trousers into the window?”

“I wasn’t aiming there, just getting them out of the way.” It so happened the widow had enough of a ledge to keep the trousers balanced precariously, but that was nothing intentional on Julian’s part.

Elim’s eyeridges went up as he collected his clothing. “You mean to tell me you don’t pay attention to the direction you’re hurling objects?”

“Not when I’m focused on getting you naked, and I didn’t hear you complaining at the time.”

In no rush to put on his own clothes – Elim turned the _Nistana’s_ temperature down from full Cardassian standard when they first took the ship, but it was still warm – Julian resettled to avoid his arm falling asleep and asked, “Are you very cold?”

Elim no longer wore layers of underclothes, as he had on DS9, though he still opted for thick, warm fabrics which Julian could sweat just thinking about on his own body.

“It’s positively tropical compared to the station. I’m quite fine, but I fear for your health if we increase the temperature much more.”

Julian had replicated himself lighter clothes and a fan so he slept better at night. He got by, although a few degrees cooler would’ve been more pleasant. It was a compromise temperature for them, and overall seemed to work as compromises did, which was middling for both parties but not intolerable for either.

“You just like seeing me walk around shirtless,” he said.

“I can’t say I object.”

Julian actually had a theory that Elim’s sexuality was less focused on the visual than, say, his own, but that didn’t preclude appreciating partial nudity. Not by any means. Moreover, Elim was enthusiastic about the many benefits of human flexibility, and quite possibly kept a mental list of these for thorough testing.

All things considered, life could’ve been worse. If they had to be wanted men on the run, at least they were having plenty of satisfying sex in the process.

One of the drawbacks to Julian’s brain, besides its obvious illegality, was that it didn’t shut off. When he was twelve, he’d been baffled to hear people mention thinking of nothing. How was that possible? He was either thinking, asleep, or very nearly asleep. Even the relaxation factor of a good blowjob couldn’t stop him for long.

“It’s been a month,” he said.

“It was a month three days ago, by Cardassian reckoning.”

“Yes, well, it’s been a month for me. Internal Affairs has probably finished interviewing everyone by now.”

“Probably? That doesn’t say much for their efficiency.”

“That’s not the point and you know it. If IA doesn’t find enough to charge Jadzia and Miles, do you think Section 31 will go after them?”

Elim said, “I’m not an expert on Section 31, though it’s flattering that you think I am.”

“You’re the closest I’ve got to one.”

“I don’t know, Julian. Truly. At a guess, your friends will be safe unless they persist in the very investigation I warned Dax against, but that’s only speculation. Starfleet Internal Affairs requires evidence to charge officers with misdeeds, I imagine.”

“Yes.”

“That’s good news for Dax, then. Unless coincidences are considered evidence.”

“No, just suspicious.”

“As they should be.”

Julian worried in silence for a minute. It was excruciating to think of all the ways this could go wrong, especially for Jadzia. He couldn’t even expect to know, which might’ve been the worst part of all.

Elim said, “We should begin collecting non-Starfleet issue medical equipment for you.”

If that was a bid to cheer Julian up, it was moderately successful. “Does that mean I can stop pretending I’m not a doctor?”

“Soon, and with the appropriate equipment. It’s crucial that you not be seen with Starfleet devices.”

“How about other Federation technology?”

Elim considered the idea. “Acceptable, since all your aliases are still Federation races, but we may have to start with what’s available within our budget.”

Right. Julian had to think about finances now, beyond simply how many of his stipend credits to spend on the holosuite and whether he should replicate a costume or spring for having Garak make one (at what he now believed was a considerable discount). He’d never had to pay for anything he needed before, and it was certainly never a professional consideration.

He didn’t even know what could be considered fair cost. In the Ferengi Alliance, probably not more than two-thirds of the asking price.

Difficulties notwithstanding, he was thrilled to get back to medicine. The sooner, the better.

* * *

 

When it came to making purchases, Julian was a terrible negotiator.

To start with, he conveyed his great interest in the medical tricorder and hypospray set far too clearly, giving the Ferengi businessman more power in the transaction. Secondly, and worse, he tried to counter the absurd asking price with a reasonable offer, as though that was the end and not beginning of their discussion.

It couldn’t help that he had very little concept of the value of latinum, as he’d always made his purchases in Federation credits. They would have to practice this skill. In the meantime, Garak took over.

“Absolutely not. It’s my latinum, and I refuse to hand over so much of it for this,” he announced, gesturing broadly to the set.

Both Julian and the Ferengi dealer, on Dok, looked at him, Julian with surprise and dismay and Dok with alarm that this transaction wasn’t going to be as simple as expected.

“Three bars is practically theft,” he added.

Julian, still dismayed, had the good sense to say, “It is your latinum.” Which it was, though that wasn’t the point, and he could use Dax’s gift if he so chose.

“Well why didn’t you say so?” asked Dok. Julian might have ceased to exist for all he now cared.

“I doubt this is worth more than one bar.”

“One bar! Do you have any idea how hard it is to get genuine Federation medical equipment?”

Garak did. He’d even insisted Julian examine Ferengi-made models, but not a single one met Julian’s standards. In fairness, the Ferengi weren’t noted for their great advances in medicine, and it was not promising when a tricorder gave three different body temperature readings for Garak within a minute and a half.

The devices before them were supposedly surplus from when a major manufacturer upgraded models, though Garak couldn’t have stated with certainty they weren’t simply stolen. He elected not to mention that last thought to Julian. In any event, Julian was satisfied that they were authentic and wanted them.

“This is the very same equipment being used on Betazoid colonies,” said Dok.

“That may be, but I’m still not paying three bars of latinum for it.” Two was his absolute maximum, and even that he deemed slightly unreasonable.

Now that he thought about it, Quark’s drink and holosuite prices were firm. Perhaps that had contributed to Julian’s failure to grasp the importance of financial negotiations, with Ferengi in particular. This was an entirely different kind of transaction.

Fortunately, Garak had learned the art of haggling as a young boy. He’d routinely followed Mila to the market and watched as she made deals with various vendors, and had always been very good at learning by observation.

“I suppose I could take two slips off the price,” Dok said slowly, with feigned reluctance.

“You could, but I still wouldn’t buy. Perhaps if you took off another bar and thirteen slips, I’d consider it.”

“That’s less than I paid for them.”

Possible, but not likely. “Perhaps the real problem here is that you overpaid.”

“No, you’re just not willing to pay for what you want. If you won’t offer a fair price, you don’t get the set.”

“Very well,” said Garak. “We’ll look elsewhere.”

He stood to go, and Julian followed with barely hidden regret. No business sense at all. Well, he could hardly be blamed for the natural result of living in a society which eschewed finances as much as possible.

Sometimes, the most powerful negotiating tool one had was simply to walk away.

“Two bars and ten strips,” said Dok.

As he suspected, there were not a great many people in the Alliance looking to pay three times what locally made medical devices cost. Those who were willing to pay for quality were not likely to frequent this out-of-the-way station.

Garak smiled briefly at Julian, then schooled his features before turning back to the dealer. “One and ten.”

Five minutes later, he paid one bar and eighteen strips, and Julian happily claimed his new equipment.

“This isn’t quite as good as the latest Starfleet technology, but it’s nearly so,” he said when they were back on the _Nistana._

“My dear, you are a physician of exceptional talent, a delightful conversationalist, and, if I may say, a true pleasure as a lover.”

“You can get to the ‘however.’ I know it’s coming.”

“You are an abysmal business negotiator,” finished Garak.

“That bad?”

“Unquestionably.”

“Oh.” Julian ran the tricorder over himself and compared the readings to those from his Starfleet tricorder. Evidently the results satisfied. “I’ll have to work on that. Do you think I can get away with setting firm prices for my services, like Quark does for drinks and holosuite time?”

He’d finally reconciled himself to the idea of requiring payment, then. Garak half expected him to start seeking out one impoverished child for every paying customer, but there were worse plans.

“Yes, but only if you refuse to be swayed by tales of woe.”

Julian frowned. “I can’t turn away someone in genuine need just because they don’t have latinum.”

No, Garak didn’t imagine he could. “Then you’ll have to find a way to determine who is in need and who is simply hoping to take advantage of your generosity. In the Ferengi Alliance, the latter is far more common. And therefore, you have to learn to negotiate.” He also needed to learn when someone was playing on his sympathy, but that would be an even longer process.

“Sometimes I feel like I know nothing, next to you.”

“You know a great deal, including any number of medical subjects of which I am completely ignorant. I assure you, if I should need emergency surgery, I won’t be trying to perform it on myself.”

Julian had spent years studying medicine, and always sought to continue his education even while practicing. These were valuable skills, not to be downplayed. Garak certainly wouldn’t like to see a doctor who’d opened a clinic after a mere year of apprenticeship, as some of the cheapest Ferengi practitioners had been known to do.

If Garak’s talents were broader in range, it was only because he’d specifically trained for such. He also enjoyed less free time in his childhood than humans seemed to, not that he’d say so, and had over a decade longer than Julian to hone his abilities.

“It seems like there’s nothing you can’t do,” Julian said.

“You’ve never seen me attempt to make toraneth pie.”

“Oh?”

“Let’s just say I’m not inclined to repeat the experiment.” Even Mila’s toraneth was better than his, and she was by her own admission not a good cook.

It was the least of Garak’s shortcomings, because he wasn’t about to admit to any of the more serious.

He could access secured computers, conduct surveillance undetected, break a Starfleet officer out of custody, forge identity documents, and haggle with Ferengi. If needed, he could interrogate, assassinate, and turn almost anything into a weapon. He was an above average field engineer, a very good tailor, and a passable gardener.

Julian had abilities Garak never would, foremost among them the diverse medical skills he frequently displayed. Garak couldn’t have stabilized the isoboromine levels of a joined Trill if his life depended on it, nor saved an engineer’s eyesight from chemical burns, and he definitely could not have developed an antigen to save unborn children from a Dominion bioweapon.

The differences went deeper. Julian had an openness to him. He cared so much, for everyone. Garak didn’t know how he managed it; he himself was capable of investment in only a handful of individuals. But Julian’s empathy and compassion were such that he convinced young patients hyposprays weren’t to be feared because they were magic (credulous creatures, human children), that he shared his heart without fearing how doing so would hurt him.

It was dangerous for him, so very dangerous, and yet this was the trait which pushed him to accomplish so much for good. In a strange way, his weakness was also his greatest strength. And it was something Garak couldn’t hope to ever understand.

That much openness was something of which Garak truly didn’t think himself capable. He didn’t say so. Instead he remarked, “No one will want me to operate on them, and I’m sure you could easily best me at racquetball, as well.”

“Yes, because that’s such a valuable skill in our situation.”

“And just as well it isn’t. Your captaincy of the Starfleet Medical Academy racquetball team is a matter of record, so it’s best not to advertise your proficiency to those looking to find you.”

“Fine. No to racquetball, yes to negotiating prices. But first, I have to set this tricorder to my preferences.”

Garak didn’t know the devices could be so customized, but was content to set a new course and enjoy Julian’s happiness over his new equipment.

* * *

 

_A Few Weeks Later_

Sisko entered Jadzia’s quarters as the bearer of good news. “Internal Affairs has concluded that no one from DS9 can be proved to have helped Garak break Dr. Bashir out of custody.”

He could see some of the tension she’d been carrying for weeks leave her body. “I’m glad to hear it.”

“They still suspect you, Old Man.”

“I’m not surprised.”

Sisko hadn’t been involved, so there was nothing IA could pin on him, despite their undoubtedly thorough efforts. O’Brien had covered himself well by manufacturing a series of problems that afternoon, at least half of which IA blamed on Garak, making it difficult to say the engineering teams should’ve prioritized a possibly malfunctioning minor envirosafety alarm on an unused part of the station while the habitat ring turbolifts were running at quarter speed and the artificial gravity threatened to go out.

That left Jadzia, who had visited Garak’s shop the day of the crime and, more damningly, conducted a public argument with Worf suspiciously close to where Garak snuck aboard the transport. (Worf, during his interview, stonewalled Internal Affairs effectively by telling them he did not believe having a disagreement with his par’Machai was a crime under Starfleet or Bajoran law, which was hard to argue because it was true.)

The investigators were pretty sure Jadzia had coordinated with Garak but couldn’t prove anything beyond suspiciously fortuitous timing. She even had a date-stamped receipt from Garak’s Clothiers explaining her visits. You couldn’t question Garak’s attention to detail.

“Morrison isn’t giving up,” he added.

“I’m not either,” said Jadzia.

“Dax…”

“Don’t tell me to let it go.”

“I wasn’t planning to,” he said. There was no point even if he thought she should, which he didn’t. Sisko was going to make his own discreet inquiries. “But be careful. If Garak was right, they’ll be watching you. I think we have to accept that right now, he’s the only one who can help Bashir.”

Jadzia frowned, but nodded, so Sisko went on to his next point. “You should talk to Kira. Odo told me he believes there’s more going on that anyone has shared with him.”

“Which he’s probably told Kira.”

“Exactly. And I know you’re trying to protect everyone, but I also know if you don’t tell her anything, one way or another, your friendship is going to suffer. That doesn’t seem like something either Bashir or Kira would want.”

He’d seen the process start already. Kira was offended at the likelihood no one had trusted her with the truth. Jadzia resented how willing Kira appeared to be to go along with the official explanation that Bashir was dangerous after all, which from where Sisko was standing might have been less ambivalence and more resignation on the major’s part.

“You don’t have to give her every detail. Just tell her Bashir’s life was at stake,” he finished.

“She’s going to want to tell Ziyal why Garak left.”

“Understandably.” Kira protected the young woman as a sister, Dukat’s daughter and all. Sisko was proud of her for it, though he didn’t think she’d appreciate hearing him say so. “Don’t let that stop you. Kira can keep a secret.”

“We should be better than this, Benjamin.”

“I know. Most of us are. And for what it’s worth, I’m certain your efforts mean a great deal to Dr. Bashir.”

“Wherever he is,” sighed Dax.

“Wherever he is.”

Sisko was impressed with what Garak had pulled off. It wasn’t the reaction he was supposed to have, but he didn’t need to hide it from Dax, of all people. The computer programs alone were amazing work, from what Sisko had learned of them. (He tried not to think about how many other breaches of Starfleet security Garak might have committed over the years.) Software & Coding was studying them and reportedly claimed whoever designed the programs was a genius.

The whole rescue mission had been flawless. Since no one had died – a concession to Bashir’s feelings, no doubt, because Garak could’ve saved himself a great deal of trouble otherwise – Sisko didn’t feel badly about admiring it.

If Garak was looking out for Bashir, Sisko thought the doctor was in good hands. Funny how people had spent the first two years on the station warning Bashir no good could come of attempting to befriend Garak, and now that friendship had saved his life.

* * *

 

_Several Weeks Later_

“We should be going,” said Garak. This station smelled terrible. The owner was clearly skimping on necessary cleaning and air purification, to a repulsive degree.

The trip had been a success, odor notwithstanding. They’d purchased the medical computer Julian wanted, at a cost which Garak feared was outright theft but he had no choice except to pay. This particular piece of Federation technology didn’t come cheaply in the Ferengi Alliance, no matter how good a negotiator he was. Fortunately, between the two of them they had lucrative skill sets, even though Julian didn’t like charging for his services.

Ferengi had no problem paying to see Julian. In fact they preferred it, on the grounds that any doctor who didn’t charge his patients couldn’t be worth seeing in the first place. Moreover, there was a sexually transmitted virus travelling the sector, and most Ferengi deemed it preferable to visit a travelling physician, as opposed to one they might have to see again soon. Apparently it was very embarrassing for them, but all matter-of-fact as far as Julian was concerned. He could also be relied upon not to blackmail any of his patients.

Garak wondered how often that actually happened.

Julian considered it vital to institute a ‘spousal special’ so he could ensure the wives of his patients also received examination and treatment. This was mostly to appease his conscience, but worked out to be a savvy business move, even with the increased investment in antivirals.

Requiring payment aside, Julian was already happier now that he wasn’t pretending to be anything but a doctor. Garak had requested he try not to make it obvious he was a Starfleet trained doctor, but lacking detailed knowledge of the nuances himself, was in no position to judge the success of this endeavor.

As for himself, Garak had no problem setting a high price for his own services. If people wanted to spend less, they were welcome to find an information security consultant of more modest abilities.

He expected Julian would be eager to get back aboard the _Nistana_ with his new medical computer. It evidently performed unmatched research tasks which Garak was content to take Julian’s word for, and while he had his doubts about the utility of studying ketracel white, he considered it a better use of Julian’s time than moping around building houses of cards.

It was therefore a surprise when, as he went to stand, Julian put a hand lightly on his arm, requesting Garak stay.

All became clear when Julian tilted his head slightly in the direction of a VIP table. He was listening to a conversation of interest. Very great interest, as he wasn’t paying attention to anyone else. It was fortunate he had Garak around to keep an eye on him; someone could’ve come up and shot him without difficulty.  

Garak would have to discuss that with him at a later time. For the moment, he was content to do the watching while Julian eavesdropped. With the amount of background noise and considering the distance to the VIP table, Julian’s ability to make out the conversation at all was remarkable. Of course, even non-augmented humans had excellent hearing by Cardassian standards.

It was a good five minutes before, smiling, Julian stood. He’d learned what he needed, then. Garak was extremely curious.

As soon as the _Nistana’_ s door closed behind them, Julian said, “One of the Ferengi was talking about his cousin who recently did business on DS9. Most of the conversation centered around how outrageous it was that a female Trill could beat Ferengi men at tongo.”

No wonder he’d been so interested. “Dax.”

Julian smiled. “The cousin was there just last week. I can’t imagine the investigation into my escape would have taken so long. They couldn’t pin enough on Jadzia to remove her from her post.”

“And if that’s true of Dax, it’s true for the others,” Garak concluded.

“She’d have claimed she ordered Miles to do his part, so yes. They’re safe. You have no idea how relieved I am to hear it.”

Garak had some inkling. Julian was naturally expressive, and Garak was a trained observer who knew him well. It might have been more accurate to say he had no firsthand experience of Julian’s relief. He learned the news gladly enough, but had Dax’s career ended, he wouldn’t have felt responsible in any way for the choices she made freely. It would have been simply unfortunate.

Julian, on the other hand, blamed himself for the whole situation. If he’d stayed out of Starfleet, he reasoned, none of this would’ve happened. Which was true, but a waste of mental energy. Besides, if he had chosen a different path in life, any number of things would be different. Garak, for one, would have found his exile much less tolerable. He would also be dead, as would Kirayoshi O’Brien, among others.

Hopefully, this news would put to rest some of Julian’s guilt and worry. Garak never knew what to do with either.

In high spirts, Julian moved his attention to the new medical computer. He required some assistance to hook it up to the ship’s power supply, because he was no engineer and the hybrid Cardassian-Ferengi technology was not intuitive (so much the better for thwarting any would-be thieves). Why it had to be a Federation device they acquired, Garak wasn’t sure; he suspected it might have been pure stubborn insistence on Julian’s part, but decided the battle was not worth fighting.

“Not that wire,” he said when Julian nearly attached his new computer to the life support. “Here. I’ll do it. You’re too distracted by your elation.”

“I can be happy and work at the same time.”

“Apparently not in this case.”

“That’s my lack of engineering knowledge. I always had Miles help with this part.” He grew a touch wistful mentioning O’Brien, but no longer with the same guilty fear he’d been carrying for concern over his friends.

Good. The less Julian looked back, the more he could look forward. It was the only way Garak knew how to live with his own exile, so he hoped Julian would embrace the philosophy as well.

Strange as it might seem, Garak was more content with the prospects for his future now than he had been since the permanence of his exile sunk in, notwithstanding that his chances of returning to Cardassia were lower than ever with Dukat in power as a Dominion puppet. Keeping Julian alive and free was a far more satisfying way to spend his days than hemming trousers.

Garak wasn’t going to get carried away with this business of growing attached to others, but he had to admit that in this case, it worked out well for both of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue to follow.


	7. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At last, we're at the end. This was another one which got away from me. Thanks for all the comments and kudos, they always make me smile.

“You have a priority message from an unknown sender.”

Jadzia yawned. She probably should’ve skipped the final round of tongo last night in favor of going to bed. “Not now, Worf. Get me up in ten minutes.”

“You will regret it when you do not have time to finish breakfast.”

She threw off the covers and sat up. “I hate it when you’re right about these things.”

Worf wisely said nothing.

In a few minutes, sipping her first raktajino of the day, Jadzia checked out the message and promptly dropped her mug in shock.

_Cold hands, warm heart. I wasn’t as suave as I thought, but I was right about you nevertheless. I trust you’ll know what to do with this discovery._

“What is it?” asked Worf.

“It’s Julian. And he found a way to free the Jem’Hadar from their dependence on ketracel-white.”

Two years she’d been hoping to hear from him. While they hadn’t been able to expose the conspiracy which threatened Julian’s life, she hadn’t given up. It was mostly a matter of defeating the Dominion first. As time passed and the war dragged on she’d wondered about him a bit less often, but Jadzia never stopped altogether and never would. There was so much she wanted to say, so many questions she wanted to ask.

The quickest update on her life she could offer was a picture. She sent her wedding portrait as a reply. Evidently Julian was waiting to hear from her, because he sent back another file.

_Congratulations. At the risk of presuming, this may interest you. Download everything before it all disappears._

That was a neat trick she didn’t know, but her curiosity over how he’d manage it disappeared in the face of his second document. It was a preliminary treatment plan for the successful conception of a Trill-Klingon child, complete with recommended protocols to maintain healthy isoboromine levels throughout the pregnancy.

She wrote back thanks, but the reply didn’t look like it came from Julian. _Commander, allow me to be the first to congratulate you on your important breakthrough. This is not a time for modesty._

Garak was still with Julian, then. She was glad, and also curious. It hadn’t escaped Jadzia that Garak had flirted with Julian for years, and Julian encouraged it wholeheartedly. She’d thought this was just Garak having fun, until he dropped everything to rescue Julian and go on the run with him. ‘Everything’ including Ziyal, who’d loved him, and that had not been a pleasant conversation.

She hated the idea of taking credit for Julian’s discovery. It wasn’t fair, but Dax had learned centuries ago that life rarely was. Jadzia didn’t want to put Julian in danger, so she would claim to have made the discovery ‘based on work previously done by others,' and if most of the preexisting work on ketracel-white had been done by Julian Bashir, that would give some credit where it was due.

By the time she composed a few lines, they wouldn’t go through. She got an ‘account deleted’ error message. At any rate, Julian was alive and had been very busy with his research. Not only for the war effort, but for her personal happiness.

Worf said, “This is a satisfactory reason to disturb Captain Sisko on his day off.”

Benjamin had made it clear that anyone who interrupted his first day off in weeks needed a damn good reason. This qualified. “Yes. And the ketracel-white solution isn’t all Julian sent. He’s done a lot of the work so we can have a baby.”

She and Worf had agreed to wait until the war was over, but put in inquiries with some of the Federation’s leading experts on interspecies pregnancies. They were told their physiologies were so disparate, and the complicating factor of the symbiont so large, that the process could take years if it happened at all, and here Julian had overcome the largest obstacles already.

Not to mention, freeing the Jem’Hadar from ketracel-white had staggering implications for the war. Jadzia pulled on her uniform and went to share the good news with Benjamin, resolving once more to do everything in her power so Julian could be safe in the Federation.

* * *

 

Everyone in the quadrant was talking about the miraculous turn in events. The Jem’Hadar, having been offered freedom from ketracel-white by the Federation-Klingon Alliance, promptly started a brief civil war before turning on their erstwhile masters and vacating the Alpha Quadrant entirely. Cardassia then sued for peace, and the war was over.

“It’s a shame you can’t take credit,” said Elim, which was his way of asking how Julian felt about the matter.

“It’s doesn’t matter.”

“You’re still a very poor liar.”

That wasn’t entirely a lie. Yes, he’d have liked to have been acknowledged for his work, but it paled in comparison to the fact that there were people in the Federation actively hoping to kill him simply for proving their biases wrong. It rankled that he couldn’t say, _You see? I’m not dangerous. All I want is to work for good._

He didn’t want to get into it, so he said, “Then it’s a good thing I have you around, isn’t it?”

Julian couldn’t return to the Federation. Elim couldn’t return to the Cardassian Union. They had new identities now, to better throw off their combined enemies, and even though they’d at last settled on a planet with a diverse population where they more or less blended in, Elim still kept their ship stocked so they were ready to flee at a moment’s notice. By many standards, it wasn’t much of a life.

What they had was each other, and that made it all tolerable. Sometimes, if he was feeling affectionate, Elim would even indulge Julian by using his real name during foreplay. In those moments, Julian could almost forget everything wrong with his life.

“I fright to think how you’d fare without me,” said Elim. He had in fact taught Julian a great deal. They both knew he stayed because he wanted to, and because he was wanted.

Two years ago, Julian hadn’t understood why Elim would drop everything to save him and go on the run. He now knew it was because Elim, almost despite himself, loved him. And Julian, who’d been at least halfway to in love with Elim in return, had found it the most natural thing in the galaxy to make the short leap to fully reciprocating.

It was a strange romance, but it was theirs, and it was real.

“We did it,” Julian said. “We ended the war.”

“You made the discovery.”

“Because you kept me alive, and you helped me get the information to Jadzia. Face it: this is a joint accomplishment.”

Ketracel-white dependency was the most frustrating medical problem Julian had ever tackled. When he’d needed a break, he worked out how Jadzia and Worf could have a baby, which was much easier. In the end, all the hours he’d put in finally paid off in the form of freed Jem’Hadar no longer interested in conquering the Alpha Quadrant. He couldn’t have done it without Elim.

“I suppose I did play a part,” said Elim.

In so doing, he’d helped free Cardassia from the Dominion, so he was very pleased. Oh, there would be military concessions made to the Federation-Klingon Alliance, but Cardassia was independent again, and Julian swore Elim was sleeping better now.

“What difficult medical problem am I going to ensure you’re able to solve next?”

Julian smiled. “I have some ideas.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End. 
> 
> Don't forget, the [ Deadly Sins Garak/Bashir Fan Fest](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Deadly_Sins_Garak_Bashir_Fan_Fest) is coming up, and I'd love to have you join us.


End file.
